Chuck vs the Second Chance
by malamoo
Summary: AU from mid-season 2 and onwards. Chuck and Sarah part ways only to be reunited years later. COMPLETE.
1. Monday A I

**Chuck vs the Second Chance**

**Synopsis:** AU from mid-season 2 onwards. Sarah and Chuck part ways, only to be reunited years later. Some things have changed but some others remain. Will they get their second chance?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Chuck.

**A/N:** Thank you for all the support I've received with this story. I'm currently in the process of reuploading chapters so the pesky page-breaks will show and make the transition between scenes easier to read.

Thanks for reading. And now I bid you good night.

* * *

**Chapter 1:**

They say time heals all wounds. Funny saying, that.

If anyone were to know, it would be her. Just as Humpty Dumpty had, she's been smashed to pieces and put back together too many times to count.

A stitch here, a pill there and good as new.

But there really is something to being broken beyond repair and the wounds never feel quite as deep as they do when she reads his name in the paper. Then all proverbs fail her, and it feels as if every gash she's ever had splits wide open, wounds weeping because she's simply too proud to.

He keeps himself busy these days. Press conferences, promotions, interviews...

And she still keeps tabs on him; what can she say? Old habits die hard.

She knows she's falling down a familiar spiral when she takes in the blurry black and white photograph on the front page. If she knew what was good for her, she'd close the paper now and get on with her day; the rest of her days.

She's self-destructive though so she drinks in the sight of him like a lost wanderer under the merciless sun.

It's been too long.

He stands alone, and she's not sure if the sight fills her with guilt or relief. He has a smile, but it's not the kind of smile she's always remembered best. The days of beaming grins and easy laughter are long gone. The age of innocence long past.

What could have been...well that's simply it. _Could have, should have, would have._

She's so lost in her own thoughts she doesn't realize she's not alone until it's too late.

"Hey, Sarah?"

Sarah throws the paper into a corner of her table and whips around, all trace of nostalgia gone from her features. "What?" she snarls. She instantly regrets what she's done when the assistant flinches back.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you there."

Sarah growls quietly under her breath. People like her were never supposed to be startled. She's falling back into bad habits again. Habits that got people killed.

The grim realization was that she wasn't too concerned one way or another.

"What is it?"

"The director wants to see you."

_Of course he does._

"Fine." Sarah turns back to her desk.

"He wants to see you now," the girl prompts.

"Fine," Sarah says, though she does nothing to indicate she'd make good on her word.

"Hey, is that who I think it is?"

Sarah finds it hard to begrudge the girl. She's young, and tries so very hard to please. And even though Sarah doesn't trust anyone here, she knows the girl's harmless.

The assistant points to the newspaper page she'd thrown to the side in her haste. The article she'd been staring at was still open.

"Oh, is the release today?" she chirrups. "Oh that's so exciting, I'll have to go and pick up a copy. I didn't know you played "

"I don't." Sarah cuts her off, and rises from her seat.

"Oh..." The girl's voice becomes quiet and thoughtful. "I just thought...you were staring...I "

"The director wants to see me now?" Sarah reminded. For once in her life, she was looking forwards to the meeting.


	2. Monday A II

**Chapter Two:**

Sarah takes a seat in the expansive office and they go through all the tiring conventions. He greets her like an old friend though they hardly know each other; offers her a seat (fine), a drink (no), and asks after her health (same old, same old).

And because he's new, Sarah forgives him when he asks after her family. The previous director knew better, and for a second she's taken off guard. It's not a question she's rehearsed an answer for.

"They're fine," she reveals, and she wonders if she's speaking of ghosts. "How are yours?"

The man grins. "Good, good," he replies, nodding his head. "The girls are into dance now and the boys are taking soccer."

Sarah nods her head. She has no idea how many children he has, but the genuine look of happiness it elicits on his face bothers her.

She shifts in her seat; they're only a minute into this meeting and she already itching to leave.

"So " The director sits up straight and clasps his hands together in front of her on his desk. Sarah likes him for the way he conducts his business. He goes through all the motions, but at the end of the day, work is work and he could care less if she had a family back home or just got back from a week at the beach. "I need you to go to L.A next week."

Sarah doesn't say anything, but she has her reservations. Just the name of the old haunt gives her the chills.

"I need you to re-establish yourself with some old contacts."

She hasn't been to the area in years, has avoided it like the plague, cut off all ties and literally erased herself and every memory so "What kinds of contacts?"

The director slides over the file on his desk. "We have reason to believe an exchange of sensitive information will occur sometime next week at the Technology and Engineering Sciences Convention. We would like you to identify those involved and retrieve the information. The details will all be in your package."

Sarah frowns. "You are aware that I have specified travel restrictions," she reminds.

The director smiles. "I am aware," he replied. No guilt, no shame, no apologies. Sarah didn't expect any less from him.

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand."

The director pushes the file further towards her. He nearly tips it over the edge before Sarah's willing to touch it.

She grabs the thick dossier and flips the cover. In an instant, she too understood.

"No." She threw the file back on his desk. "Absolutely not."

The director openes the file on his desk and pushes the photographs across the table for her to see. Even if she turns away, she could not avoid the familiar images.

"As I understand it, you two share a history."

The way he says it made it sound as if it had been nothing more than a fling. A brief summer romance or lapse in judgement.

"My answer is no." Sarah's never been so adamant about anything before, and if the director had more than the two months he had under his belt, he'd know that. If he knew even a speck of the past he'd know he was climbing a slippery slope.

"He's mixed himself with some very well-connected, very dangerous individuals," the director informed. "He's not altogether aware of what he's gotten himself into, Agent."

_No. Of course not. _Sarah sighed.

"You'll go as his security " The man smiled. "We will provide you with whatever cover you need."

She felt herself slide with every word; every second longer she spent gazing at the familiar face on the photograph was a second too long.

"Why me?" She hasn't had an asset to watch in years. Not since

"As you are no doubt aware, you have established roots in L.A.. Your presence at the convention will not raise suspicions."

"I haven't seen him in years." _Five _to be exact.

The director was relentless. "Lucky for you that's not a well known fact. He's quiet private about his personal life. And as I understand it, your divorce was never finalized."

His pressed smile split into a sickening grin.

"So Mrs. Bartowski, what do you say?"


	3. Friday A

**Chapter 3:**

Friday night and she spends it in her apartment alone with an order of Chinese for one. It's familiar and there's nothing wrong with that. Stability is far too underrated in this day and age.

She sits herself on the couch and watches the first thing that comes on the TV. It takes ten minutes for her to finish her dinner. Five to clean up after herself. Five more to brush her teeth for bed.

She's finished her evening routine before the show does.

Flicking off all the lights, she heads for the bedroom. The only thing that's out of the ordinary there is her suitcase.

Even though it's only nine in the evening, even though it'll only be five minutes to throw some clothes and things together, she's waited until the very last moment to pack for her trip.

Opening the drawers of her dresser, she haphazardly throws a handful of the essentials into the cavernous bag. Underwear, socks, tee's. She's been instructed to pack for a week, seven days ergo seven of each and yet for some inexplicable reason she overshoots and takes much more.

"Whatever," she mutters under her breath as she moves to the closet. She's got plenty of room anyway. Always prepare for the unexpected.

_And always prepare for the worst._

She pulls a few dress-shirts off the hangers, throws a silken blouse or two and then the obligatory little black dress. She's spent half her life living out of a suitcase so it all comes as second nature. She knows exactly what she needs; she's got it down to an art form really.

The familiarity of this routine doesn't shake her until she turns around and realizes her mistake. Hastily she reaches into the suitcase and removes the blue top the one with the little buttons.

She never wears it. It's old, tattered she doesn't even know why she still keeps it around.

_Of course you do._

"Of course," Sarah says and returns it the very back of her closet.

Refusing to be alone with idle thoughts, she finishes with the toiletries, shoes and accessories. She packs everything away in her bag with militant strictness bordering on obsessive compulsive. Finally she has no choice.

The hardest part.

What she's avoided doing for days. Weeks. Years.

Stepping up on tiptoes, she leans into the very back of her closet, feels against the highest, furthest shelf above the hangers, and finds the shoebox.

Bringing it down, she holds her breath and justifies the act because she doesn't want to inhale any of the dust. But even when she's wiped away the evidence of all that time, her breathing is still just as uneven.

Sitting on the edge of her single-bed, she takes a moment and just stares at the nondescript cardboard box. The weight should be feather-light in her lap and yet she feels crushed by a fifty-pound weight sitting on her chest, squeezing the breath right out of her.

_This is a mistake and you know it._

She holds her breath again as she clasps the lid and this time there's no blaming it on the dust.

Like uncorking a bottle of champagne, the momentum of the nostalgia threatens to knock her over when she finally turns the lid. The compulsion is stronger than her willpower, and without meaning to, she starts to rifle through the contents, stirring up old memories she long thought she'd repressed.

She's forgotten so much.

Photos from the wedding.

Polaroid's from the early days.

Postcards and letters. _Dear Sarah...Love, Chuck. _The sheets filled with words and long paragraphs are postmarked long ago and in quick succession.

_I'm sorry._

_Forgive me._

_Come back to me._

And then the resignation: _hope you are happy and well..._sprinkled with only the tiniest inklings of hope: _I miss you. We all do. _Letters addressed: _Ms. S. Walker and closed with C. Bartowski._

The more recent ones are only a handful of words, each rife with their own meaning. W_ish you were here. Merry Christmas. Happy Birthday. _The closure shifts too. From _love _and _yours always _to _sincerely _and then nothing at all. Just his name. Then his initials. Then blank.

Like there is no closure at all, just a hanging sentence, waiting for her to pick up the other end.

The gaps in dates grows longer and longer, until the last one. Sarah flips over the postcard to read the date; it's been more than two years.

Sarah's the antonym of a packrat, the evidence is all there. She's managed to condense a relationship spanning a good decade of her life into the contents of a shoebox, but even that is too much.

She knows the vulnerability in holding onto these memories. The danger of having a past that people can trace.

Putting the letters to the side, she digs through the pieces of old memories. There are pebbles from a lake somewhere in the backwoods of California, a ticket for a carnival six years ago, a peacock feather, a set of keys for a house no longer hers, and an old fortune from a fortune cookie, Love one another and you will be happy. Holding the faded strip of paper in her hand, Sarah doesn't know why she's kept it, but even now, she can't bear to throw it away. She can't bear to throw anything away.

and then she sees it. Nestled in with everything else, a velvet box.

She takes it in her hand, enclosing it with her fist as she draws it from the precious rubble. She tosses the box to the side, all else irrelevant now, and holds the jewellery box in her shaking palm.

It shouldn't affect her as badly as this but it does.

She opens the box and feels it snap back on its hinge.

The sight of it takes her breath away.

Emotions threaten to overwhelm her and her first thought is to do what she ought to have done years ago. To gather up all the evidence and make it all disappear. Then rational or is it irrational thought comes to her again and she takes out the rings.

It's been so long the weight of them feels unfamiliar and off on her left hand but the thought of removing them and putting them back fills her with just as much discomfort. There's no way to win, but she knew that already. She's always known.

_But you did it anyway._


	4. Saturday A I

**Chapter Four:**

He's expecting her.

They haven't spoken in years, haven't seen each other in even longer, but she knows that he's been informed of her return. Her last minute details do not deviate from the original plan, so she has to believe that he's accepted the cover story.

Just as well. Like much of his life, he's never really had a say, but a little part of her still hopes that he was a willing accomplice.

_Why? What did it matter?_

It just did.

Seated in business class, she taps her fingers against her arm-rest, staring listlessly out into the nothingness of the world at thirty-six thousand feet.

"Anxious to return to your sweetheart?" asks the kindly old woman sitting next to her. To prompt the conversation, she points to the rings on Sarah's left hand.

Sarah's taken aback because it's been so long since people have made assumptions but she manages a polite smile.

"Yes," she whispers, because any louder and she'd have to start facing the demons she's taken such pains to run from. Nervously she runs her right hand over the diamond and the band, hiding it from view.

"Miss him?" the old woman presses, beaming at her.

Sarah stares back out the window, but the glaring whiteness is too much for even someone desperate to avoid a conversation. "Of course," she replies, feeling her lips tremble to hold the smile.

The old woman nods her head in agreement. "My husband passed away last year," she confessed with a sad look.

"Oh."

"He was the love of my life."

The fatalistic tone matched with the elderly woman's frail voice lends to Sarah's melancholy. She's spent a lot of time in denial over the years, made a lot of mistakes along the way, but one thing was sure.

He hadn't been one of them.

"Do you miss him?" Sarah asked, the first time she's felt engaged in the conversation.

"Everyday," the old woman replied. "They say time heals all wounds but " Placing an empathic hand to her chest, she shook her head, "Not this."

Sarah stared at her, long and steadfast. "You know," she finally said with a look of understanding. "I think you might be on to something there."


	5. Saturday A II

**A/N:** I could never have written this chapter or the ones following without the help of **Altonish **who took the time out of his own busy schedule to rescue this story from my illogical and melodramatic ways. He deserves as much credit for this story as I do (i'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, Al). I am forever in your debt.

Thanks **mxpw **for correcting for the actual flight time; are you sure they can't get there in three if the wind blew the right way?

* * *

**Chapter Five:**

Sarah mills down to the luggage carousel with the others, trying to adjust to the sudden heat that is summer in smog-filled LA. The air-conditioning must be broken, there's no other explanation for why she finds it so hard to breathe. Why it feels like a vice is tightening around her chest the closer she gets to this city.

As she waits for her luggage, she pulls out her cell and wonders if she should call. If she should check into a hotel or hope on the off-chance that he would offer her a place on his couch.

Things never feel more pathetic than when she passes the old woman who'd been in the seat beside her. She waves and Sarah suddenly feels the pressure of living up to all the old woman's preconceived notions.

She feels the woman's eyes on her, just waiting to catch a glimpse of her husband.

And then, just when she least expects it, she hears her name.

Sarah clutches her chests and nearly drops the phone.

It's the damn smog.

Her name is repeated, and this time she finds the composure to turn around and face him without a telling expression. The mere sight of him sends chills through her body.

He looks good. Better than good. Very dapper.

He's dressed like the important man he is the person Sarah always knew he was.

And then she realizes she's stopped breathing altogether.

"_Chuck_..." She whispers his name under her breath, as if she might be imagining things and speaking any louder would make a scene.

Frankly she's surprised she hasn't lost all control of her senses. Years of training are the only thing that gives her the courage to look him in the eye again.

He doesn't repeat himself a third time. He doesn't even look at her. His eyes look past her, filled with distant memories and she's afraid if she breaks the silence she will fall in with him.

Memory is a fickle thing and that's precisely why she doesn't delve into the past. She keeps the most precious of her memories untouched like presents perpetually wrapped under the Christmas tree. Recollection would only sully the celluloid perfection of what once was.

It's no wonder then why she feels so conflicted. After depriving herself of anything to do with him for so long, she finds it hard to maintain her focus.

In the snap of a finger all professional objectivity disappears and she sees him not as her cover but her husband. Her best friend. Her _ex_.

The pain is so overwhelming Sarah feels herself fall down an all-too-familiar dark hole.

"Hey yourself," she says, trying to sound casual. She had a cover to play and so did he.

He looks at her as if he can't believe that's all she has to say for all their time apart but then he remembers this old game.

"How was your flight?" His face twitches ever so slightly when he speaks; it's the only tell to this otherwise completely normal conversation.

"Fine."

"I didn't think you'd be here," she confessed. Even now, she doesn't understand.

"I didn't think so either," he murmured to himself, looking distractedly at the flight board. Sarah only catches it because she's hanging onto his every word.

_I'm sorry._ Sarah's lips tremble and it's all she wants to say.

She doesn't though. Talk is cheap, and 'sorry' at this point would be an insult.

And he would never understand; he never has.

Besides...who doesn't go through life without regret?

The usual pleasantries are taboo; Sarah can't bring herself to ask him how he is and neither can he. They're both treading across thin ice. Sooner or later, one of them was going to fall through the crack. Sarah just hoped she wouldn't be the first. She'd been staring into the abyss for far too long to step into it now.

He smiles nervously at her, much like the way he had on their first date, and collects her luggage as any good husband ought to.

In the distance Sarah sees the old woman beaming at her and then, much to her horror, approach them.

"Oh my, is this your husband?" she exclaimed, tugging eagerly on Chuck's sleeve. Chuck looks down at the little old woman, and then at Sarah.

Stunned into silence, Sarah could say nothing to defend herself.

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck replies politely. "Chuck Bartowski, pleased to meet you."

The old woman's face lights up with delight as she takes his hand and clasps onto it. "Oh!" she exclaims. "You are a very lucky young man!"

Sarah cringed inwardly. She should never have had those drinks on the plane. It seems the scotch has loosened up more than just her nerves.

"Why do you say that?" Chuck asks, with just the slightest furrowing of his brows.

"Well you were all Sarah talked about all flight," the old woman explained.

_The flight was only five hours_, Sarah wants to remind. The way the widow said it made it seem like eons.

Chuck looked at Sarah with a strange expression. "Really?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Oh yes," the old woman confirmed, nodding vigorously. "And who can blame her?" Despite her advanced age, the widow winked playfully at Chuck. "Now then. Take it from someone who's lived for far too long. Don't let that one out of your sight, you hear?"

Sarah felt all blood drain from her body.

They always did say God had a wicked sense of humour.

Chuck swallowed slowly, trying not to be affected by the old woman's words. But Sarah caught all his subtle tells; the way his brown eyes dimmed as if someone had taken out the bulb, the way he pressed his lips together in a grim smile.

The old woman wasn't satisfied until she had wrestled a promise out of Chuck.

"I won't," he says, avoiding Sarah's gaze.

The widow smiled obliviously. "It's so sweet to see young folks like you two," she declared and waved at Sarah. "Take care now."

Chuck and Sarah waited until they were sure the widow was gone for good before they could speak to each other again.

"Is this it?" Chuck asks. It's shocking how quickly he dismisses everything that's just happened.

When she nods, he nods in response, like they no longer know how to behave as a normal couple.

He leans in and there's some awkwardness when they both wonder whether to greet one another with a kiss lips? cheeks? or was a handshake simply too formal?

His lips graze against her cheeks, and her hand instinctively wants to grab him by the gruff of his neck and pull him closer. There's too much space between them, there always has.

It's an action she could so easily fall back into the habit of.

Instead she stands still, and in that extraordinarily small blip of a second, takes in everything she can. The way his day-old stubble rubbed against her chin, the scent of his cologne and him, his touch, the nearness of his presence

And then it was gone. If not for the heat she felt on her cheek, it may very well have all been a dream.

"It's good to see you," she finally whispers.

Chuck frowns. "Is it?" The bitterness in his tone is unmistakable. She could have come to see him any time.

Sarah swallows hard. Chuck takes a step back and offers his hand. The momentary bitterness is gone and his face is once again a mask.

"Shall we go?"

Sarah catches the flash of the metal band on his finger, the perfect match to hers. Only unlike hers, Chuck's band is dull and scratched from use.

_He still wears his ring._

She doesn't know why, but she wants to grin like a fool.

"Sarah?" His hand wavers in the air, waiting to be accepted. "Are you coming?"


	6. Saturday A III

**A/N:** As always, **Altonish **helped me make this a bajillion times better (that's a real number, right?).

**Chapter Six:**

Even though he has the money for a flashier car, for a personal chauffer if he so chose, Chuck's success hasn't affected him one bit. He's still the same man and somehow the knowledge makes her love him all the more.

She settles into Chuck's ridiculously practical electric ride. Leave it to Chuck to save the world, one mile at a time. Sarah props her elbow against the window and stares out at the once-familiar landscape.

She still couldn't believe she was back. For years she'd made herself think that it was the end. She had to; the slow lingering poison of longing would have killed her otherwise.

And now she was back.

Turning her head slightly, she feels her breath catch in her throat as she steals a glance his way. She'd reconciled with the belief that she'd never see him again, and now it was as if she were faced with a ghost.

He must have sensed her eyes on him because he seemed doubly determined on the road ahead.

If she didn't know better, he was avoiding her.

They sat in silence, stealing glances at one another as if afraid at any second one of them would wake from this dream.

Finally, it was Chuck who asked the million dollar question.

"What brings you back to LA?"

Sarah tells him the answer she's rehearsed. "You need protection."

Chuck's knuckles tighten around the steering wheel, but his voice remains soft and steady.

"What brings you back to LA?" he repeats. What he means to say is _Why_?

"There might be people at the convention who aren't who they say they are." Sarah reconsiders her strategy. Chuck is supposed to be her cover; he is for all intents and purposes a civilian once more and her conscience can't help but remind that he didn't ask to be brought into her world again.

"Sarah," Chuck finally says. Though he doesn't look at her, she can already hear the frustration in his tone. "Do me a favor? Don't lie to me. Don't pretend like I don't know the kind of missions they send you to do."

Sarah feels as if he's just kicked her in the gut. Just a few words from Chuck can make her feel so _dirty_, like she's some sort of criminal instead of one of the good guys.

She sinks in her seat and stares avidly out the window, trying to distract herself from the weight of the guilt that threatens to crush her.

"I've got people. And you've got people." Chuck's voice burrows down to the very marrow of her bones, threatening to expose all her pathetic little lies. "I design software, I live a quiet life, and I keep my nose out of things I shouldn't. So don't tell me you're here for _me_. Don't lie to me again."

_Lies_.

It always goes back to the lies.

They drive in silence down the freeway and Sarah's forgotten all the things they used to talk about. She's never been one for talking, and since Chuck, she's lost the art of conversation altogether. Conversations led to sharing and sharing was not something Sarah did anymore.

Sitting here in silence was unbearable though. Listening to Chuck used to soothe her soul. She'd missed that so much. She used to initiate conversations just to hear him talk. Sarah loved his voice and she wished she'd had the courage to share more during their conversations. There were more things left unsaid than he would ever know.

"I've missed you," she finally says. It feels like filler, just something to plug the mammoth sized crater between them, but that doesn't mean it wasn't painfully true.

He stares past her and it's almost like he doesn't believe her.

She stares back, hoping he could see the truth in her eyes but he doesn't look for it; he just keeps on driving.

* * *

_"Sarah?" Sarah groans. The burst of cool morning air that nipped at her nose and ears was reason enough to bury her face into his chest. "Sarah, come on," he coaxes with an easy laugh. "We have work."_

_He began to pull away but Sarah wasn't having any of it. "I don't care..." she groans. One more minute...that's all she was asking for._

_He kisses her in the center of her forehead. "We can't. Meeting with Beckman, remember?"_

_Uggh. It was the last thing she wanted to hear this early in the morning. Sarah made a sound in disgust, and pushed him until she heard a thump against the floorboards._

_Chuck just laughed. Without warning he launched himself back onto the bed, sliding against the sheets and assaulting her with kisses in all directions. He was like an over-excited puppy, pawing at her and tickling her where she was most vulnerable._

_"Ah Chuck!" she exclaimed, covering herself with the sheets. "Go away!"_

_She grabbed her pillow with the full intent of gagging him but by the time she sat up in bed, he was already gone, his laughter echoing down the hall._

_General Beckman knows Chuck and Sarah share a residence. It was her idea in fact. Beckman had told Sarah to use whatever means necessary to get the Intersect to cooperate; she relied on the agent's discretion._

_But that doesn't mean Sarah doesn't keep her distance from him in front of the monitor. She steals a glance at the man sitting on the opposite end of the table._

_Her partner, asset, and so much more. He was her everything. It was just a coincidence the most important man to the government was also the most important man in her life._

_"Agent Walker." The stern clipped voice is like an icicle that pierces through her heart. Sarah quickly wipes away any trace of a smile and sits up straight in her seat._

_The diminutive figure on the screen turns to Chuck. "Mister Bartowski."_

_Chuck just smiles but it bothers Sarah that after everything he's done, the woman still refuses to give him the title and recognition he so obviously deserved._

_"Good work on the McMullen file, another job well done. Mr. Bartowski you have, without fail, been our best Intersect subject to date. And your fellow Americans appreciate your continued cooperation."_

_Sarah frowned. Her praise was, if nothing else, brief and to the point. This excessiveness wasn't normal._

_"While you are not contractually bound to the United States government for your services, you have continued to put the needs of others ahead of yourself. You have done a great deal for this country."_

_Chuck smiles at the rare smattering of compliments._

_No, Chuck! Sarah wants to scream. Couldn't he see that this was a trap? She was building up to something sinister._

_The wizened woman's voice began to fade into the background as her heartbeat roared like a freight train in her ears._

Be calm. Don't freak out.

_Suddenly Sarah's throat felt uncomfortably dry. They were going to dismiss him. They'd gotten all they'd wanted out of him; found someone younger and more resilient, and now they were going to just toss him to the side of the curb._

_And then she'd have to leave and find new work._

_It just wasn't fair. They worked hard, and they were careful. They were a good team._

_"Agent Walker. Agent Walker, did you hear what I said?"_

_Sarah snapped out of her reverie, embarrassed to be caught ignoring someone of such import._

_"So, what do you think?" the older woman asked, looking expectantly at her._

_"What do I think of what?"_

_"Marriage."_

_Sarah's sure she's must have heard wrong. She nearly laughs at the thought._

_"I beg your pardon?"_

_Beckman wasn't used to having to repeat herself and it showed. "What do you and Mr. Bartowski think of marriage?"_

_"To...each other?" Chuck asked, his voice wavering. "Or in general? Because I think weddings have become a very lucrative business in the last few years "_

_"To each other," Beckman clarified. She sighed and removed her thick-rimmed reading glasses. "It will solidify your cover for the public and serve as a contract to the government. It would put us at ease, Mr. Bartowski, if you could make a show of commitment to your country."_

_Chuck's eyes darken and Sarah's only too glad she's not the unfortunate recipient of that frosty gaze._

_"I'm afraid I have to object," Sarah says, avoiding Chuck's gaze. She was willing to give her life for him, but her heart?_

_No. Her father taught her better than that._

_"A marriage is a sacred oath between two people. The government can't tell me who I can and cannot marry "_

_"No, and nor are they," Beckman assured in a flat, unaffected tone. "It is merely a suggestion, Mr. Bartowski. Are you unwilling to have Agent Walker as your wife?"_

_She's crossed a line. Sarah glares into the monitor and it's all she can do when the real villain is thousands of miles away._

_She has no right prying into their private life. Sarah's been green-lighted to resort to whatever means to keep Chuck happy; so why does all this feel like a punishment? Hasn't she already done her job? Wasn't it enough that her and Chuck were together?_

_"No-no, of course not, but-but that's not the point here," Chuck stammers. "I'm not going to marry her simply because you've asked me to. Marriage is a decision that two people decide on alone, in private."_

_Beckman is unfazed by the distinction. "That's fine," she says. And then, to prove that she was in fact an unfeeling robot underneath that sad sack of skin, she adds: "But if you are unwilling to make a commitment to your current partner, we have no choice but to remove her and find you someone more to your liking."_

_Sarah felt all the air in the room escape into the screen._

_"This is a joke," Chuck declared._

_"No, Mr. Bartowski. The United States government does not have a sense of humour," she says. "Having been married before myself, I realize this could lead to personal complications for the two of you. So please take the next few days to think it through." She smiled and the look made Sarah feel nauseas. "I await your response by the end of the week."_


	7. Saturday A IV

**A/N: **The following chapter has been approved by **Altonish **who is awesome at reading and writing and juggling dinner plates, although I have no proof of the latter.

**Chapter 7:**

"Make yourself at home," she hears Chuck say as he pushes the door open and lets her inside.

_Home._

She hasn't known the meaning of that word in years.

Sarah doesn't want to ask what he's done with their house, doesn't want to know why he's moved out and taken all the memories with him. She walks down the short hallway, past the office, the living room, the stairs, just taking in her new surroundings. Every inch of Chuck's spacious new condo has been tastefully decorated but for some reason it feels off.

This isn't the Chuck she used to know. Where was his formidable collection of DVD's? Where were the collectibles he'd refused to part with when they first moved in?

She rounds the corner and it's their pictures, the same pictures from five years ago that sit on the mantle. The brief images of smiles and long lost happiness catch her eye but she refuses to dwell on them. She has a copy in her closet, and she's already promised herself not to look at them anymore.

It's the same magnets on the fridge, the same subscriptions sitting on the coffee-table. If she opened the fridge, would it be the same carrot sticks and leftovers too?

Chuck seems to sense what all this must mean because he follows after her. "It's not what you think," he explains.

Sarah keeps her expression neutral. "What am I thinking?"

Chuck shrugs, but he waves his hand over all the things Sarah's noticed as if he were trying to take a brush to it. "That I haven't moved on."

The confession takes them both aback. Chuck's eyes flash with embarrassment and Sarah's simply too shocked to react.

"That's not what I meant," he said, quickly trying to retrace his steps. "I mean, I don't want you to think I've been waiting for you to come back." He pauses and waits for her to speak, but Sarah still hasn't found her voice. "I mean, I don't come back to LA very often. I just had someone move my stuff from the old house to here. It's pretty much the way they left it.

"Before last night, I haven't been here in two years." Chuck's voice is steady, but Sarah's a good enough operative to recognize the pain he's hiding. Chuck doesn't look at the pictures anymore either.

"You haven't?" she asks with as much casual curiosity as she can muster. She already knows where he's been. London, Sydney, Montreal, New York...anywhere but here.

Despite all their differences, they are the same.

They're both still running from the past.

He looks at her and it seems they've reached an impasse. They can no longer avoid the conversation they should have had five years ago.

"It was too hard for me to stay...you know?" He looks at her helplessly, and she wants to tell him everything will be okay except she's promised not to lie to him anymore.

"I just don't want you to feel awkward. No one really lives here. I get a lady to clean it for me every now and then."

_No one._

The way he says it makes the loneliness nearly palpable.

"And I'm not the same person I was." Chuck straightens up a little when he says it, like he has something to prove. Sarah appraises his features, and she has to agree that he has changed.

They both have. Neither of them are as young (or foolish) as they once were. Gone are the loveable curls and the animal shapes that called it home. He has worry lines etched into his features and he's lost some of his boyish charm, but his eyes are still the same. And underneath the expensive suit, the look of determination, the stiff upper lip, she knows he's still the same man she married.

It's one of the reasons she finds him so endearing.

"I don't want you to think I've been waiting for you all this time because I haven't."

The explanation is for her sake but knowing is worse than living in the hope that

"I get it " she blurts, hoping to cut him off but it's not enough.

"I was a different person back then. You gave everything you had and I wanted more."

Sarah licks her lips; she's chewed them to shreds but the compartment in which she stuffs her emotions is bursting at the seams. She just keeps biting them.

"Chuck..." she begs. _Please...don't..._

"I get that!" he assures her. "I understand now." His eyes reflect that understanding with terrible clarity. Even now, she can still catch the hurt she'd caused him. "I asked for too much."

Sarah avoids his gaze. She can't bear to meet his eyes and see in them what she's spent five years trying to blind herself from.

She makes the mistake of staring at the fridge wall. There's a faded Polaroid stuck between a coupon long expired and an old utilities bill.

It's a picture of them, what they had been, with a smile that told of all that could have been.

Sarah didn't know what was worse. Looking into the past or facing the aftermath of her not too distant future.

"I'm sorry...I promised myself I wouldn't make this awkward and now things are _really _awkward and I don't even know why " Chuck takes a deep breath and quits his babbling. In a snap he goes from _Chuck_, loveable nerd, to Chuck, respected businessman and software extraordinaire.

"I don't know why you've come back, and not to say it's not nice to see you again, but I know you didn't return for me." He smiles grimly, and Sarah wishes she could tell him different. That she's changed, that she's stopped being such a coward and come to her senses.

"But you're here anyway, so we should make the best of it. You need me for your cover, and apparently the government thinks I need you too."

Sarah looks at him and she doesn't understand. When he offers his hand, she stares at it as if he's grown an alien limb. He can't possibly expect her to touch him like nothing's happened.

"How do you feel about some practice tonight?"

He looks hopeful, and Sarah thinks she finally understands the bargain he's drawn.

"Come on," he says. "How about a fake date? It'll be just like old times."


	8. Saturday A V

**Chapter 8:**

The line that once separated Chuck and Sarah has long faded, and she knows it's hopeless trying to re-establish the same kind of buffer between their old cover and this one.

She's committed herself far beyond the call of duty and she's lost herself along the way.

She's given herself to him and there's no taking back.

They are married. This is not a cover.

But it _is _pretend. Two people pretending their mere presence didn't cause the other agony.

All the smiles are smiles to keep from crying, and if that wasn't a cover-up, she didn't know what was.

Chuck is in a good mood. He's relaxed in the driver's seat and jokes about something or other. He's not talking _to _her though, not really. She knows Chuck's nervous babble when she hears it.

Sarah watches him in silent awe, wondering where he picked up such a good poker face. How could he pretend there wasn't a two tonne elephant crammed in the car with them?

To the untrained eye, they might really seem like a couple.

_You are a couple._

Sarah shakes her head. It was a cardinal rule in her line of work. In order to live the lie, you have to believe it.

Somewhere along the way, she thinks she might have confused the two.

_You have to sell it. _It was a part of their deal.

"Ellie's going to be so excited," he says to her. His eyes seemed to add: _Don't disappoint her, please. _Facing Chuck was torture but facing Ellie? Sarah wasn't so sure she could. Ellie wasn't like Chuck; she wouldn't hold back for appearances sake.

"How is Ellie?" Sarah begins to chew on her lips again, cutting through the lip gloss and balm. She chews until she tastes blood, but even then, she doesn't know how to stop. "She's well?"

"Yeah..." Chuck nods, a sad smile on his lips. "We haven't spoken in awhile...wish I kept in touch more after..." He doesn't go on and Sarah thinks she catches the drift. "It's been a long time."

There it was again. A glimpse of the old Chuck. A glimpse of vulnerability before he donned his armour. He didn't use to have to keep a wall between them.

Chuck doesn't elaborate and Sarah senses his reasons for keeping his distance. She doesn't know why he's never come clean about their relationship, but then again, she has never been exactly forthcoming either.

"You should have heard her when I said I would be in town this weekend." He smiles at the memory but the smile quickly falls.

Sarah suddenly realizes what it's meant to him to maintain this facade. How many Christmases, birthdays, and reunions he's had to miss to avoid rousing suspicion.

She never asked him to do any of this.

She never wanted him to do any of this.

"Chuck..." she whispers. She wants to take his hand and then what? Promise never to leave him again? Tell him that all his suffering's come to an end? Say that she's back and back for good?

Sarah's chest aches as if she's broken a rib. She's already promised him no more lies.

"Ellie misses you," Chuck says without looking at her. His tone seems to imply more than that, but she doesn't ask and he doesn't tell.

Sarah chews on her poor mangled lips and looks out the window, waiting for the pain to subside.

It doesn't. It never does.

What she needs right now is a drink.

Sarah shudders inwardly. _You're on a mission, damn it._

And she'd already messed up once by letting her guard down on the plane. It was bad enough with her reputation in DC; the last thing she wanted was for Chuck to know.

* * *

Ecstatic would be an understatement. Sarah's barely had time to say 'hello' before she's clutched in a death grip by her sister-in-law.

"Ohmygosh!" Ellie squeals. "Sarah!"

Sarah feels herself sink with dread as she slowly, cautiously, closes her arms around the other woman. It's been too long since she's had the touch of another human being and she's not quite sure she can handle it.

Chuck watches her reaction and a look of warning flashes across his eyes.

_Don't screw this up._

"El-Ellie..." she manages to whisper, struggling to speak up. The brunette looks at her with a jubilant expression of joy.

Sarah doesn't deserve this. How could Ellie still accept her? Why hasn't she threatened to stab her through the heart for breaking her brother's?

It's the second chance she never asked for but received anyway. And because this is real life and not some fantasy, it's simply too good to be true and too good to believe.

"Hey Elle, we've got a whole evening ahead of us here, let's not overwhelm her," Chuck suggests, giving Sarah a chance to recover from the initial shock.

His sister flashes him a deathly glare. "Easy for you to say, you get to see her everyday."

Chuck blanches and Sarah holds her breath, afraid to see the pain in his features. He recovers quickly though and smiles, as if it were the very truth.

"Don't I get a hug? Didn't you miss me?" he teases, back to his usual self.

Ellie looks fit to burst into tears. "Oh Sarah!" she exclaims, ignoring her brother. Sarah hasn't hid her startled expression very well because Ellie doesn't miss a thing.

"Don't mind me, it's the hormones."

Sarah doesn't understand at first, and then she wonders how she could have been so blind.

"Any day now..." Ellie announces, rubbing her swollen belly. "Do you want to feel the baby kick?"

"Ellie, how about we let these nice people into our home?" From the kitchen, Sarah hears her brother-in-law call for them.

Ellie beams and waves for them to cross the threshold. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm just so excited to see you both." She takes a deep breath and the smile hasn't left her face for a second since she's opened the door. "Dinner in just a minute. Make yourselves at home."

Without waiting to hear their reply, she waddles back into the kitchen.

It strikes Sarah that this is all a deja vu; only they are no longer that happily married couple and this is no longer real.

Sarah steals a glance up at Chuck. His eyes are distant and despondent and she knows what he's thinking.

"I was going to tell her," he confesses quietly when they are alone. "But every time..." He hesitates as they tread slowly towards the dining room. "I didn't want to be the one to break her heart."

Her heart? Sarah wrinkles her brows. She wants to ask, _And what of yours?_

Some things may change, but some things never do. Chuck still put everyone else's needs before his own.

"She's happy," he says, smiling wistfully at the photo frames lined up along the mantle. There isn't a single photo Sarah's seen before; pictures of Ellie and Devon behind a gorgeous waterfall, another on a scenic mountain-side, and one more behind a wide expansive desert. In others they are in what looks to be a rural village; surrounded by the elderly, the young and the impoverished...they've probably been to more places and seen more in the last five years than she has in her career, and that's a feat.

"Are you happy?"

He looks at her and she wonders why she's even asked such a thing.

"I'll tell her if you want," Sarah whispers. The lump in her throat builds and she's not sure she can really commit the act, but if it came down to the two of them, it would only be fair that she be the one.

Chuck grabs her arm, as if sensing she were about to head into the kitchen and break the news this instant. "No," he pleads. "Not now. Not with the baby on the way. She's not ready."

Sarah wants to ask if they are still talking about Ellie, but she lets the conversation drop. She plasters on a fake smile and shuts out all the despairing thoughts from her mind.

_These people are your family. You're happy to see them,_ she reminds. Sarah takes a deep breath and wills her body language to change. Her muscles ease and she allows herself to pretend.

Chuck seems to sense the change. He lets go of her arm and manages a weak smile.

"Thank you," he utters, and the words send shivers down her spine. He closes the distance between them, his hand drifting to the small of her back. For a second her entire world is consumed by the placement of his fingers.

She forgets the past.

He is her husband. She is his wife. His hand is where it should have been for the last five years.

She's forgotten what it was like to gaze into those eyes; they're mesmerising and she swears if she blinks, ten years will fade into nothingness and she'll tell him her name is Sarah Walker. She's new in town...

He smiles gently down at her, his lips dipping towards hers, and she trembles in his arms, uttering a silent request for him to have and hold her.

Then, by some cruel hand of fate, he pulls away. "You've still got it," he says with a shake of his head. He blushes slightly. "Sometimes I forget how good you are at this whole pretend thing."

Sarah smiles back, all the while trying to hide the crushing disappointment.

This wasn't some game not to her anyway.

"Not everything was a lie, Chuck," she whispers, so softly she doesn't think he can hear.


	9. Saturday A VI

_**A/N:**__ Huge thanks as always to __**Altonish**__ who had a big hand in making this chapter believable. I tried to take the easy way out and he made me do it properly._

_

* * *

_**Chapter 9: **

Of all the perils Sarah's been faced with on the job, nothing fills her with more fear than death by drowning. It's the slowest death; the cruellest sort of torture. Hope is a thin line cast out in the water and the darkness is the oppressing hand that threatens to quell it.

There's no way to describe what it feels like to drown. At birth you're pulled from the waters, never to return. What was once second nature suddenly goes against nature; suddenly it's air you crave and once you have it, you'll want nothing else.

Sarah's fallen into the darkness before, she's walked down the tunnel of light and been plucked from the clutches of death but when Ellie pulls her aside for a private conversation, Sarah realizes there's no saving her this time.

They sit down on the couch, alone, and Sarah feels the pressure build against her chest. She's in too deep and she can feel her body urging her to breathe. Breathe the water and let the darkness take you.

The imagery is not pleasant and Sarah grimaces in silence beneath a calm exterior.

Ellie doesn't catch on. Her excitement hasn't diminished one bit this evening and Sarah feels terrible. She doesn't deserve this kind of attention, and she finally understands how that old phrase is possible. You truly can kill a person with kindness.

"Oh my gosh, can you believe it's been five years?" she gushes.

Sarah smiles weakly. She should have taken the drink when Devon offered her one.

"No. Time passes by so fast doesn't it?"

_Lie Number One. _

"I know! I told Devon we were only going on _one_ mission, but after the first we were hooked."

Sarah only hears what she chooses to. "I'm sorry?" she asked, perplexed.

"Doctors without Borders? That thing we've been doing for the last couple years?" She waited for Sarah to respond but Sarah was speechless. "They needed doctors to set up TB clinics in rural Sri Lanka and we thought it would be a great adventure—but you knew that."

Sarah would have, if Chuck and she had not tried so hard to avoid talking about the last five years.

"When we finished our term, the coordinator told us they needed people to help staff a refugee hospital in Burundi." Ellie looked sheepish. "We couldn't say no."

"So you went..."

The brunette nodded. "To the jungles, the rainforest, the desert. You name it, we've been there. Bolivia, Kathmandu, Yemen..."

Sarah had been to those places too, but for much different reasons. For the second time this evening, she felt all the things she'd done for the greater good had been _wrong_.

"We sent you postcards when we could, did you get them?"

Chuck had forwarded her one or two, but that had been years ago.

"I'm so sorry we've been out of touch. Some of the places we worked didn't even have running water much less a postal system. You understand, right?"

Sarah gulped. She couldn't believe Ellie was asking for _her_ forgiveness.

"Of course, those people needed your help." It was the same excuse she'd used to justify her own actions, but somehow, she just didn't feel as noble as her sister-in law.

Ellie beamed at her. "Right! Well, Devon and I do miss it but it's about time we settled down," she said, rubbing her burgeoning belly. "It's been nearly eight months now but I still can't get over all the things we lived without."

"Nothing like being back to remind you of all the things you missed."

Ellie looks at her and nods, but she knows the brunette will never understand the true meaning of living without the things that mattered most. Living without electricity or running water is hard, but living long after a part of you has died?

Ellie squeezed her hand. "I keep telling Chuck you guys should move back but he's so stubborn. Maybe if you talked to him he might..."

Sarah hadn't realized Chuck had moved out of LA. At last, his words from earlier today were starting to make sense.

"New York is so loud and busy. You can't raise a family in that kind of environment." She squeezes her hand again and Sarah feels her mouth suddenly go dry.

Before Ellie's even opened her mouth, Sarah's already guessed where this is going.

"Have you and Chuck been trying—"

"You know, Ellie..." She hesitated. Ellie looked at her expectantly, and Sarah could sense Chuck's presence in the kitchen. Even with the tap running, she was sure he could hear their conversation.

"It's not as easy as people think," she finally explained. The confession made her cheeks flush.

_Lie Number Two. _The logistics were actually pretty straightforward. The trick was usually _not_ getting pregnant.

Ellie's smile falls and suddenly they're speaking in hushed voices.

"I completely understand," she whispered, squeezing her hand. Sarah nearly didn't believe the look of sadness that flickered in the woman's seemingly bright eyes.

_Oh my God. _Sarah wrapped her arm around her sister-in-law and looked anxiously in the direction of the kitchen. If Chuck were to see this...

"Please don't cry," she begged. Sarah wondered if it were possible for her to do anything right around Ellie.

Ellie choked back her tears with a laugh. "I told you, it's the hormones," she explained, wiping her eyes. "Don't worry about me, Sarah, I have _almost _everything I could ever ask for. What about you?"

Sarah's eyes widen and her lips feel dry as sandpaper. She resists the urge to bite on them, she knows it's an obvious tell. "I'm fine," she replied, trying to brush off the topic.

_Lie Number Three. _

"I guess I haven't given it too much thought."

_Lie Number Four. _

Ellie narrowed her eyes. "Do you need a referral? There's this fantastic specialist at the hospital. His name's—"

"No!" Sarah blurts, feeling her cheeks burn with the hole she was digging for herself. "No, I mean..." She falls back into the lies so easily. "Chuck's been traveling so much, we don't really have time for kids and you know I just think...if it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be."

The woman's disappointment is nearly palpable.

"I'm really sorry to hear about your father."

Sarah tries not to look like a deer in headlights. "Yeah, I'm very sorry too." A part of her wishes she'd gone over the details with Chuck instead of wallowing in silence in the car, but it's far too late for that now.

She didn't deserve this from Ellie, this was all too much. "I know he was sick for a long time. At least he's no longer in pain."

"No, you're right," Sarah replied, following on her cues. So that was how Chuck managed to excuse her absence for the last eight months at least.

"It must have been so hard; leaving everything you had to move in with him in that small town. Giving up your career, your life back here...I wish I could have done something to help."

An intangible lump burns in the back of Sarah's throat. If only Ellie knew how close she was to the truth.

"It's been very hard," she agreed.

"You should have called," Ellie scolded. "We would have come back. All you had to do was send us a note. I can't believe neither of you contacted us for the funeral."

In her own well-meaning well, Ellie could be quite belligerent when she wanted to be. "What exactly do you think family is for, Sarah?"

Sarah had no excuses to offer. "I'm sorry," she whispered, staring down at the carpet. She felt as if a massive wave had just crushed her down into the dark abyss.

"Hey..." Ellie's expression softens and she wraps her arm tenderly over the woman's shoulder, bringing her closer. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up again, and you know I'm just saying all this because I care about you. I wish you didn't feel that you have to suffer all alone. Thank God you at least have Chuck."

Sarah avoids Ellie's gaze, the tears already rising unbidden to her eyes.

She's gasping for air and she has no reason to be.

She needs a drink, or several; perhaps a bottle.

_Because that always helps, right? _

"It helps forget..." she uttered quietly under her breath.

Sarah doesn't have time to dwell on the proverbial knife wound to the heart. Ellie suddenly seizes her hand and presses it to her belly.

"Do you feel that?"

Sarah makes a noise somewhere between a choked gasp and a desperate wheeze.

"Amazing isn't it?" Ellie utters. She presses the blonde's hand harder against the side of her belly, refusing to give into Sarah's inclination to simply recoil and shrink away.

"Don't worry, you're not going to hurt the baby," she teases. Sarah's inclined to disagree. She knows how tainted everything becomes with her touch.

Just then, Sarah feels the kick again, the promise of new life hiding just below the surface. She's in awe of the strength of something so impossibly small.

"Are you sure you don't want the doctor's number?" her sister-in-law asks softly, a wistful smile on her face. An ache develops in Sarah's heart as she remembers all too well how it felt to be hollow inside.

From behind them, Sarah hears the voice of her brother-in-law. "Who knows, maybe you're next." He's meant the words for Chuck but he's far from subtle and she knows Ellie hopes the same for her.

They're both too much, and Sarah inhales the water praying for the darkness, but there is no escape from drowning in your emotions. Even when she feels her heart seize up, she's still painfully awake and all too aware.

Devon comes to sit with them but Chuck lingers against the pillar. Sarah cranes her neck back; their eyes meet across the room, and though no words pass between them, they both know how that story ends.

All that could have been has died long ago.


	10. Saturday A VII

_A/N: All my thanks to __**Altonish**__ who helped me make Ellie a little less gullible and a little more neurotic. _

_And thanks __**mxpw**__ for approving this chapter as "not too depressing". That works for me._

_

* * *

_**Chapter 10: **

Devon finishes regaling them with a tale of how him and Ellie were chased out of a zoo in Johannesburg by a flock of territorial flamingos and everyone laughs.

"I don't think I can ever step inside a zoo again," Ellie adds.

Sarah smiles as if it were second-nature even though muscle-memory has forgotten the expression years ago.

"I hope you at least got a refund," she teases. Without meaning to, her eyes instinctively seek the approval of the man sitting on the other side of the coffee table.

Chuck's smiling too, but his smile fades when he realizes he's being watched.

They fall into a lapse.

"Well, it's getting late," Chuck says with an exaggerated yawn. It's the words Sarah's waited all evening to hear, but it seems too cruel to leave now. They were finally starting to catch up; she'd finally loosened up after the third glass of wine.

"Yeah, well big day tomorrow..." she says with some reluctance.

Ellie looks crushed. She clings to Sarah as she laments: "But it's only ten! Come on, we're all adults here. What's your hurry?"

Sarah looks to Chuck for help but he's kept himself physically distant from her this whole evening.

Devon rises from the armchair and places his arms around his wife. "Honey, they're going to be in town all week. If you keep this up they'll never want to visit again."

It's the only way Ellie lets them go.

"You promise you'll come again?" she asks as everyone gets to their feet. "I have this great recipe for spiced chicken. You have to come try it.

"And we haven't even shown you the photos from our adventures! Oh, and I kept some postcards I never ended up sending to you because we couldn't find the stamps." Ellie keeps trying to find some excuse for them to visit again, as if either of them really needed one.

"Ellie, we're just half an hour's drive away," Chuck reminds. "_Relax." _

Ellie places her hands over her belly, reminded of the very reason she needed to remain calm.

"But you _will_ be coming back, right?"

"Yes, Ellie, of course." Sarah feels guilty for making the woman beg but she doesn't like to make promises. Even the simple ones are hard to keep.

"Take care, you guys." Chuck hugs his sister, claps his brother in law on the back and then unexpectedly takes Sarah's hand in his.

Sarah nearly gasps when she feels his fingers thread between the spaces of her own.

Damn it. She shouldn't have had that last glass of wine.

"See you soon," Sarah echoes. They step outside and wave again to the happy couple. Divided by the threshold, Sarah feels like she's standing, watching all that could have been. Then the door shuts, and the cold reality sets in.

Sarah unwittingly squeezes his hand and they both look down at the anomaly; the way their hands clasped together so perfectly.

_If we were really a couple, this would be the part where you'd be forced to kiss me good night. _

He lets go of her hand and the way his eyes fail to meet hers says it all.

_Luckily we're not really a couple,_ seems to be his reply.

"Shall we go?" he asks, though it's not a question when he's already walked off without waiting.

Sarah follows slowly behind him, giving him the space he needs. Her heels drag along the stone path as they pass the complex's fountain. Chuck walks around it completely unaffected, but the path is a little more difficult for Sarah.

She stares at the vacant spot where they'd once sat down together and it's as if the ground has taken a hold of her, refusing to let her pass. Her eyes drift down to the rings on her hand and then at the fountain again.

* * *

_The week rushes by like a ticking time bomb. One second she's lying in Chuck's arms, just another day in sunny LA, and in the next, her time is up and she's sleeping alone back at her old hotel room. _

_Things had become progressively awkward between the two of them. Suddenly Chuck wants answers; has started asking for things she thought they'd agreed not to define._

_Like their relationship. _

_Their cover. _

_Their feelings. _

_It just never ended, and all the evasive tactics she'd been trained in couldn't help her. Chuck was infuriatingly persistent and she thought she'd finally met her match. _

_And now they weren't speaking to one another. _

_Sarah stares into the mirror as she reapplies another coat of mascara. It feels like a waste for them to spend what could very well be their last week together—apart. _

_And all because she couldn't say the handful of words he needed to hear. _

_Sarah jams the wand back into the mascara tube a little too forcibly. In all things except for this, she was at the top of her game, the head of the class. And this one blinding flaw made her feel like a complete failure. _

_Chuck has gotten close enough; he's the exception to all the rules she's set out for herself. But marriage? _

_It was the promise to end all promises. That she would depend on one person and one person alone to be the source of all her happiness and strength and love? _

Preposterous.

_Nothing was forever. _

_Even with all the best of intentions, there was nothing to say everything she loved and held dear wouldn't be taken from her in one fell swoop. _

_Sarah took gambles all the time but no sane person bets their entire future on the roll of a dice. _

_Looking at the time, she grabs her keys and prepares to head over to Chuck's. At least they'll have this one last evening together before tomorrow and the end of everything that once was. _

_Beckman's not likely to give them an extension. Chuck, out of principle, isn't likely to do something simply because he's been told. And Sarah has already made it clear. She'll give Chuck everything, but her heart. _

Isn't it a little late for that?

* * *

_Chuck's sitting by the fountain, staring at his laces. When he hears her heels _click_ against the pathway, his ears perk up and he grins at her, his whole face radiant with joy. _

_It's like the ultimatum never occurred. _

God. _How she's missed that smile. _

_"Hey. Can we talk out here?" His eyes dart nervously to the closed door of the complex. "Ellie and Devon are home." _

_Sarah stiffens. _That _kind of talk. _

_"Sure," she says, trying not to look so disappointed. The conversation was inevitable, she knew that, but he's had four days to accumulate enough fodder to fill the next few hours and all she really wants is to be with him and forget the fact that this was going to be the end. _

_"Sarah." Chuck sighs. Despite only having said one word and syllable, he's already set the tone for the rest of the words to come. "I've had a lot of time to think about what Beckman's said. And as much as I hate having to make a decision, it's exactly that." _

_Sarah tries to keep her expression neutral by propping her chin on one rested hand, but the second Chuck turns to look at her, her heart races and she has to look away. _

_"Beckman isn't telling us to do this. She's giving us the choice." _

_It's a pity Chuck can't see the difference between a real choice and blackmail, but there's no use in pointing that out to him, he'll never see her side of things. _

_They were fighting a system infinitely more intimidating than they could ever truly comprehend. What were they to them but two individual grains of sand dropped in an Olympic sized swimming pool? To the heartless at the top of the food chain, their lives must seem so utterly _insignificant.

"_Sarah, the last thing I want you to feel is obligated. I don't want you to do this for me, because you feel it's your duty to protect me. Beckman will make sure there's someone to do that." _

"_Chuck!" she utters, genuinely surprised. "What are you saying?" _

_He looks at her like a doomed man. "I don't want you to do this for me. You'll regret it—" He puts his hands out and stops her before she can defend herself. "Maybe not today, maybe not in a year, but someday you will. And we'll fight and be miserable and you'll pin all of it back to this day. To a decision you never wanted to make." _

_All his courage crumbles as he lets his feelings finally show through. _

"_Look, we both know how I feel about you, so I'm going to shoot straight," he says, staring down at the ground. Suddenly she was the one trying to catch his attention and he was the one refusing to meet her gaze. _

"_Sarah, you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me." _

_Chuck wasn't the first to say it to her, but he was the first who said it with such conviction she truly believed him. _

"_You're beautiful, you're smart—"_

Don't forget coward!

"_You laugh at all my stupid jokes and you have this horrible habit of constantly saving my life." He smiled hopefully at her and she had to laugh at that. Chuck was the only person alive who could nicely sentence a person to their death. _

"_The truth..." And now Chuck begins to struggle. Sarah's heart plummets and she feels he's rehearsed this at least a dozen times until he's found the best way to let her down easy. "Sarah..."_

_He wipes his hands on his jeans a few dozen times and Sarah wonders what he has to be so nervous about. It's her life that will be ruined. _

"_The truth is you are everything I thought I ever wanted and more. And for the last few days all I can think about is our future together..." Sarah didn't realize she was holding her breath until she felt hypoxic. Everything Chuck said was leading up to the ultimatum. She could see it coming and it took every fibre of her being to fight the urge to just bolt from the fountain and keep running_

"_I'm crazy about you and I've always been but you know, having a fake relationship—that's one thing, but a marriage...I mean every day..." _

Living the lie.

_Sarah completely understood. It always goes back to that point. Sarah's entire life has been one giant fabrication and Chuck just wants something real. _

_Couldn't he see that they were fundamentally too different for each other? _

_Had he forgotten that she would never be _normal_? _

But opposites attract...

_The thought of leaving Chuck was too painful to dwell on for any longer than a few seconds at a time. That someone else would take her place here and in his heart, that she would have to say goodbye to all this forever and close the door on the hope of something she hadn't dared to dream of until—_

_She wasn't ready. How could she abandon her partner? They were a team._

"_If we're going to get married, it has to be real. I don't want you to do it for me or for Beckman or for anyone else. I want you to want to be with me on your own free will." _

_Sarah sat up straight, acutely aware that Chuck had suddenly stopped talking. _

"_Chuck..." She didn't understand. Was that all he had to say? A great big confession and then some talk about setting her free? Wanting her to make her own choices? _

_He swallowed nervously, and when he took her hand in his, they felt warm and slick against hers. _

_Sarah didn't know what to say. Did he honestly expect her to be the one to say goodbye first? _

_"Sarah..." Chuck slid off the fountain and went down onto the ground. _

_She didn't realize it at first, but when Chuck produced a small velvet box from his jacket pocket, she saw that he was on bended knee. _

_"Will you marry me?" _


	11. Saturday A VIII

_A/N: As always, i must thank __**Altonish **__for helping me tweak the details. The nerdy game title belongs to him. _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 10:**

Sarah's sleeping on the proverbial couch. It's the bed of the guest bedroom and after a completely civil argument over who should sleep where, Sarah won. Or at least she thought she'd won.

Maybe she should have forgone the beds altogether and taken the couch.

It's been a long time since she's slept like this. Her small twin mattress in DC took away the constant reminder of the space beside, but now, with Chuck literally only a few meters away, the emptiness beside her and in her life was never more obtuse.

She lies in absolute silence, barely allowing herself to breathe.

Even that is too much.

It's so quiet her ears begin to ring and she wonders if she's just imagining things to satisfy her unrelenting curiosity. It's been so long since she's had the simple reassuring rattle of Chuck's breath.

Of course nothing but silence fills the room and the space outside. It's like even with Chuck here she's still all alone.

Thoughts of today race through her mind. The convention—her mission, starts in less than eight hours and she needs to sleep. To compartmentalize. To get back to her job.

She perks her ears and tries to hear any sign of life outside, but Chuck must already be asleep.

It's just her, by herself, with her thoughts.

A dangerous combination.

* * *

_Sarah storms into the lazy diner, threatening to tear the bell off the door as she charges down the center of the small facility, searching the booths for her friend. She's a force of nature; paper napkins threaten to fly off the table as she breezes by and diners look up from their plates and keep looking even long after she's taken her seat. _

_"Soph..." Sarah sinks into the padded booth and looks across at her friend with an expression of despair. _

_Sophie Engels turns to the little girl sitting beside her and gives her a pat and a kiss. The little girl looks at Sarah impassively and skips out of the booth, taking a seat on one of the barstools at the diner's main counter. _

_"Sophie," Sarah says again when she's sure they are out of the child's earshot. "I fucked up." _

_The words make Sophie burst out in laughter. It peeves Sarah that she should take the confession as if it were a joke, but then again, Sophie Engels was a force of nature in her own right. _

_Beckman introduced her to the agent several months back in an effort to reinforce her commitment to the cause. Ten years her senior, Engels was like a breath of fresh air in LA; fearless, driven, stubborn to a fault and unflinchingly honest. _

_And more importantly, she'd married a former asset and didn't give a damn what it meant to her career. _

_"I care about him," Sarah whispers, leaning with her elbows on the greasy table. "More than anything else in the world. H-h-he means too much to m-me." Sarah stares guiltily at her left hand and the ring that reflected there. It was a constant reminder that she was making the biggest mistake of his and her life. _

_"Oh Sarah." Sophie waits until she's finally found a way to stop laughing before she speaks up again. "I should hope so; you're marrying the man after all." _

_"No! But that's exactly it! I can't marry him. I can't marry anyone. I _can't_ do this." _

_Sarah didn't know what the hell this was. One second she was walking on clouds and the next she feels like she's just fallen down a mine shaft. It's been getting worse the closer she gets to the wedding date; what first began as a few nagging thoughts has now blown into full on paralyzing panic attacks. _

_"Don't be ridiculous," Sophie says, leaving no room for protest. "You care about him. He cares about you. And you love him." It wasn't even a question. Sophie was just that good. _

_"But this is real." She doesn't think Beckman (or Sophie for that matter) gets that. This wasn't a part of their cover, and she wasn't going to pretend like none of this happened when Chuck's usefulness comes to an end. _

_This was going to be her life. _

_And for someone who never made promises or commitments to suddenly make the biggest commitment of her life; well the leap of faith was a little too much. _

_"Of course it's real, because God forbid you actually possess feelings. See how long the agency will want you after that secret gets out." Sophie winks at her between swigs of coffee. _

_"Ha ha," Sarah deadpans. "Not funny." _

_"No, it's not. It's completely normal. This is called getting 'cold-feet'. Every bride-to-be gets it." Sophie squeezes her hand. "I know it must upset your over-fluffed ego, Sarah, but you are in fact just like the rest of us." _

_Sarah shook her head. "How do you make it look so easy?" _

_"Ha!" Sophie barks loud enough to disturb the diners sitting in their vicinity. "Carl and I have been married more years than you're allowed to know, dear. It's never easy, but it's so worth it." _

_Sarah wondered if it was really possible to have it all. Sophie sure seemed to have the formula worked out. She has the family, the job, even the house with the white picket fences. _

_"Carly! Come here!" Sophie beckons. _

_The little girl swivels around in her seat and gives the women sitting in the booth a mischievous look. Clutching her giant milkshake, she swivels back around and continues to sip as if she hadn't heard. _

_"Carly!" she calls again but it's all in vain. _

_Sarah smiles. "She doesn't like it when you call her that?" _

_"Well I tried calling her Carl when she was just a baby but my husband was always opposed." Sophie turns to the line of barstools again. "Carly!" _

_The little girl continues to ignore her. _

_Sophie growls. "Yeah, that was cute when she was two, and now it's just a pain." Threatening to stand up and scream inside the quiet diner, Sophie calls her daughter's name one last time with a distinctive warning tone. _

_"Caroline Sophia Engels, get over here _now_!" _

_The little girl hops off the barstool without missing a beat and runs back to the booth with her milkshake. She grins at her mother, terribly pleased to have riled her the way she has. In every possible way except thirty-odd years, the little girl was a carbon-copy of her mother._

_Sophie rolls her eyes and kisses the child on the crown of her head. _

_"Have you said hi to Miss Walker yet?" she prompts. _

_"Hello Miss Walker," the girl chimes shyly. _

_"Well, soon-to-be Mrs. Bartowski," Sophie teases. "What do you think?" she asks, nodding her head to the little girl. "They're pretty cute, right?" _

_"_She_ is very cute," Sarah says and that's all she's willing to admit. In fact if she didn't know better, she would have accused Sophie of bringing her daughter here on purpose. _

_Sophie smiles like someone who knows better. "Don't you ever think about a little Chuck or Sarah?" _

_"No." Sarah's response was immediate. Marriage was enough of a commitment for this lifetime. "We're not having kids." _

_"You say that now," Sophie chides. "Just like you said no to commitments, right? No boyfriend? No marriage? No..._babies?"

_"Sophie, I might be crazy._.._but I'm not insane." _

_Her friend just laughs. "That's really too bad. You and Chuck are going to make beautiful babies." _

_

* * *

_

Sarah wakes to find her heart racing and her mouth as dry as a cotton-ball. When she turns her head to observe the untouched half of the bed beside her, the motion is too fast and suddenly she feels like her stomach has flipped inside out.

Tossing the sheets aside, she half-runs-half-crawls to the bathroom and clings to the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. A series of dry-heaves later and she feels no better. Pushing her hair back, she's reminded all too often why it was much more convenient to simply pass out than go to sleep.

When she feels she has the strength to get back to her feet, she pads back into her bedroom only to note with annoyance that morning had crept in sometime during the night. Sarah hated Sunday mornings. It served no purpose except to remind her how purposeless her life was without her job.

She slinks into the kitchen for a glass of water and a few aspirins and nearly makes it back without incident had she not passed through the living room.

"Chuck?"

Sarah stands by the couch, looking down at his prone form in disbelief.

"Chuck, what are you doing here?"

The man stirs from his sleep and blinks drowsily. "Sleeping..." he murmured turning to face the cushions.

"Why aren't you sleeping...in a bed?"

Chuck groaned but Sarah wasn't satisfied with the answer and poked him where she knew he'd be most ticklish.

"Go back to bed, Sarah," he groaned. After another sharp poke, Chuck had no choice but to toss sleep out the window. He sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes.

"Why aren't you sleeping in the master bedroom?"

"I—" Chuck pauses. "I..." Rather than answering, he turns it back onto her. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I had a bad dream."

Chuck looks up at her, suddenly wide awake. "Oh." A pause. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She's had a lot of bad dreams in the past, but these days, the subject of her nightmares has evolved to parallel her reality. There's nothing he can do to help. She most certainly doesn't want to discuss the obvious.

"No. I'm okay. It was just a dream." Her hand drifts towards him and she uses all her willpower to keep from smoothing out his hair. "Good night then," she says even though she looks for an excuse to linger.

Chuck nods. As she turns to go, he seems to change his mind.

"Sarah?"

Sarah turns around, her heart picking up on just the simple uttering of her name.

"It's the red carpet opening tomorrow." Chuck stares down at his lap.

"I know."

"I started up a video game company."

"I know. I was there." Sarah wishes he would look at her, so he'd know that she hasn't forgotten a thing. "I remember, Chuck. Nerd-E Games, right?"

He blinks slowly in disbelief. "Right."

_I remember every moment with you. _

"I made a game called Buymoria—"

"_Nerds of the Rectangular Cubicle. _It was a hit. Games Generation's Game of the Year."

Chuck lifts his face and smiles, genuinely impressed. "You played it?"

"Of course not," she dismisses. "I don't play video games."

Rather than being offended, Chuck suppresses a laugh. "I know. I remember."

They smile at one another, and then the awkwardness sets in. They remember things better left forgotten, and Sarah realizes she's given too much of herself away. Now he's going to ask why she's kept tabs on him.

Except he doesn't.

"You must be pleased. It's what you've always wanted."

Sarah isn't sure what to say. She's happy for him, truly, but as the source of much of his unhappiness, she isn't sure what he wants to hear from her; does he feel he's somehow managed, despite everything, to thwart her by succeeding?

Chuck's smile wavers. "Yeah, it is..." he agrees, but his tone holds something more.

She still remembers the very beginning when he'd just started the company. All those long hours locked away in his office and business trips out of town now finally justified. It was the success he'd always planned on enjoying—with her.

Chuck goes back to staring at the ground and avoiding her gaze.

"I thought you should know for tomorrow," he clarified, back to business. "I do a lot of PR and we're about to release a new game soon. I have a presentation on Friday."

Sarah keeps waiting for him to say more. Any sort of clue or encouragement that things between them were not broken beyond repair.

_So you can hurt him all over again?_

Sarah takes a deep breath. "Thank you."

She means to say more but Chuck interrupts her with a yawn. "See you in the morning then," he murmurs as he turns his back to her and lies on the couch, burying himself under the blanket.

Sarah twists her lip. She couldn't believe that was it. Their first _real_ conversation, and he blows her off to sleep.

_It is four forty-five in the morning..._

"Good night, Chuck."

From under the blanket, she hears his muffled voice. "Good night, Sarah."

All it takes is three simple words to make her heart flutter. They used to say it all the time, every night, and sometimes when she forgets herself, she still does out of habit.

Only this is the first time in five years she's heard a reply.

The epiphany ends no sooner than it began and Sarah goes back to the guest bedroom alone to feign some sleep on her half of the bed while the rest is left to waste.


	12. Sunday A I

_A/N: As always, thanks **Altonish** for making sense of nonsense. =) _

**Chapter 12:**

Sarah checks her messages as she waits for Chuck to get ready. The mission is still on; her objective remains unchanged. Find the people, retrieve the information, and high-tail it out of town.

It feels almost like old times, except this time she's on her own.

Sarah slips the phone back in her bag and assesses her features in the hall mirror. She's dressed to blend in in an understated blue dress with a white shawl. Her cover is herself, or what she ought to be—devoted wife and computer simpleton.

Everything is real though, from the ring on her hand to the string of pearls around her neck. These were her things, not props.

And it was her husband, not another agent.

"Don't forget to _smile_," she reminds under her breath. She was not supposed to attract any unnecessary attention today. She was going to play nice, get to know the people, and figure out a game plan.

Just then she hears Chuck descend the stairs. She walks out just in time to meet him at the landing. He looks at her, a little flustered, and yanks on one end of his tie.

"You look really good," she confessed, admiring the way he fit in his suit. He looked better than good. He looked like someone who could hold his own.

Chuck smiled sheepishly, his hands still struggling with the strip of silk.

"Here..." she says, and undoes the mess he's made. It comes as second nature and she falls into an old habit without noticing.

_When will you ever learn? _she muses as she straightens the ends. The warmth of his body radiates off his chest as her fingers glide down the silken strip. She's forgotten how _good _he smells.

She rests her hand against his chest to steady herself and suddenly she realizes just how close he really is. Was her hand trembling, or was the fluttering she felt Chuck's racing heartbeat?

"Thank you," he whispers, taking her hand and removing it. His palm feels slightly damp against her skin.

His grip is gentle but firm and she realizes she's crossed an invisible line. Sarah takes a step back and stares down at her feet.

"You shouldn't be nervous, you'll do just fine."

Suddenly conscious of his tell, Chuck wipes his hands on the sides of his pants.

"I'm not nervous," he refutes, raising his brows at her. It's enough to coax a smile from her. "Are you?"

The reminder makes Sarah sober up. This wasn't supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be work.

"Just let me grab my bag." She heads back to the bathroom to gather her things and give herself one last chance to wipe the flush from her cheeks.

"This isn't you," she reminds quietly to herself. _So snap out of it. _

Sarah walks back out and Chuck's waiting for her at the door. He stares at her for a moment too long, and she can't seem to read what he's thinking.

"What?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he says, but his eyes never leave her. "It's just..." he shakes his head again. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Chuck's walls are back up and she no longer knows how to get around them.

"It's okay, you can tell me." She smiles, trying to hide how nervous she suddenly feels. "I won't be offended."

"It's not that." He hesitates one last time. "I just didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Sarah holds her smile, afraid to let him see the true effect his words had on her.

"It's been a long time," she agrees.

Chuck takes a deep breath. Finally, he blurts out what's been on his mind this whole time.

"You know when it's been awhile since you've seen someone and you start to remember them differently than they were? Like how in high school you remember the popular people being prettier than they really were?"

Sarah doesn't see where he's going with this, but she nods her head anyway.

"What I'm trying to say is that you end up romanticizing things over time, and it's just...I'm realizing that my memories of you are still pretty damn accurate."

Without waiting for her to respond, he opens the front door. "We should go. We want to be fashionably late, not fashionably absent."

It takes Sarah ten seconds to decipher what Chuck's speech really means, and a full thirty for the giddy smile to disappear from her lips. Even when she realizes that Chuck's started walking ahead, she trails after him with a spring in her steps she hasn't felt in a long time coming.

_

The convention building is packed with visitors and journalists by the time Chuck and Sarah arrive. Their badges awards them entrance to the VIP room on the third floor, where they quickly find themselves in the midst of various presenters and the press.

"Is this normal?" Sarah asks, frowning. "We're not late are we?"

Chuck grins. "Nope, everyone's just really excited about the latest product reveals."

His smile was infectious. "You included?"

Chuck shrugs. "Of course. I wouldn't be living up to my reputation as a giant computer nerd if I wasn't."

Before either can say anything else, a flash goes off and Chuck seizes Sarah by the waist before she can think of grabbing her gun.

"Relax," he whispers into her ear, then fakes a smile for the approaching journalist. "It's just the press. They always take my picture. No one's going to kill us here."

"Well, someone might if they knew who I was," she hissed back, grazing her lips against his clean-shaven face.

"Ha ha," he retorted dryly and waved for the cameras.

Sarah did her part and smiled for another photo.

"Oh my gosh, Mr. Bartowski, is this your wife?"

"The one and only," Chuck responded without missing a beat. Sarah watched him carefully, but she couldn't tell if he meant it or not.

Chuck's grip tightened around her waist and Sarah suddenly realized they were waiting for her to speak.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment; she was supposed to be the professional here.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Sarah said, offering her hand. "I'm Sarah. Sarah Bartowski."

The journalist shook it, beaming brightly. "Finally, at last," the woman agreed. "Mel Reynolds for _Technology Review. _I don't know how many interviews I've conducted with your husband and every time he gives some excuse for coming alone."

Sarah's smile wavers.

"I know we find all this very exciting, Mel, but I'm afraid we're probably the only ones," Chuck says, rushing to save the moment.

Sarah blushes at her stumble. "It's completely my fault," she says empathically. "I feel like a fish out of water at these places, I'm afraid."

The journalist nods and smiles, missing all the subtleties that someone with a critical eye would have caught.

Then again, not everyone lives their life expecting lies and betrayal.

"So..." Chuck tilts his head wistfully to one side. "Shall we get this over with?"

Sarah's not sure who he's speaking to until the woman beside her laughs. "Admit it, Mr. Bartowski, deep down you enjoy all the attention."

Chuck laughs and the first twinge of jealousy hits her. She wishes she could bring out the same kind of easiness in him.

"I'll only borrow him for a moment, Mrs. Bartowski," Mel assures. Her hand is already around Chuck's arm, eager to have him all to herself. "I only see him once every four months so you'll have to excuse my forwardness."

The irony is not lost on either of the two.

Chuck smiles but all the lies are taking a toll on him. "I won't be too long," he promises. Sarah nods complacently and waves as they head for a quieter corner. It's just as well; she has a job to do here.

Scanning the scene, she realizes she's not too far off from her earlier confession. She feels like a fish out of water here, flopping helplessly and gasping for air. It's almost as overwhelming as that time she went to a comic convention with Chuck for his birthday, except that the lives of innocents were not riding on her performance then.

She begins to look for refreshments—a stiff drink perhaps—when someone taps her on the shoulder.

Whipping right around, she finds herself in close proximity to a woman she's never met. A normal person would step back, startled, but Sarah's spurred to stand her ground. Unfortunately, the overeager reporter is used to getting up close and personal in order to fill a story.

"Mrs. Bartowski? Did I hear that correctly?" Sarah's eyes immediately scan the woman's name badge. _Joan Epstein; _Games, Gadgets and Gizmos.

Sarah fakes a smile. "Yes, Sarah Bartowski, pleased to meet you."

The woman's eyes widen to saucer-like proportions. "Oh my God..." She clutches her recorder and notebook, nearly shaking with excitement. "Oh my God..." she utters.

Sarah feels her cheeks grow hot. She turns and looks over her shoulder just in case Godzilla was behind her this whole time.

Unfortunately, it appeared the excitement was all Sarah's own doing.

"Joan Epstein; I'm a huge fan of your husband's work!" the reporter gushed. "Oh my God, I can't believe I am talking to _the_ Sarah Bartowski."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Sarah says with a nervous laugh. Not for the first time, Sarah wonders just how exactly Chuck's filled in for her absence.

The woman closes in on Sarah, grabbing her by the arms and threatening never to let go. If it were anyone else other than this diminutive, dazzled reporter, Sarah would have remedied the proximity breach long ago. As it were, such actions would blow her cover and land her on the front page of tomorrow's news so she was stuck playing the good wife.

"You're a _legend_," Epstein informs.

Sarah blushes. "A legend?" Well, that sounded...pleasant?

"Yeah, you're like the Loch Ness monster or Bigfoot," the woman declares with a giant grin.

Neither of the two sounded like things Sarah wanted to be compared to.

"Thank you?" she uttered with a confused smile.

"You're welcome. Mrs. Bartowski, if I could just have a moment of your time, I promise I won't badger you for too long—oh please, just a few questions for the article I'm writing—I swear I won't ask you for any insider information on the latest game design or anything like that—oh please Mrs. Bartowski—"

Sarah was beginning to get a headache from all the high-pitched nagging. "Uh...sure," she said, as it seemed acquiescing was the only way to escape from the circulatory pleas. "I promised my husband I wouldn't leave him alone for too long—"

"No! No! I swear!" Epstein held up her hand and crossed her fingers. "I promise. Thank you so much. Thank you! Thank you!"

It was all getting to be a bit much for Sarah and she was grateful when the reporter suggested they conduct their interview somewhere more remote. At least when the woman exclaimed and squealed it would not draw the attention of the entire room to gawk at her.

"So, how long have you and Mr. Bartowski been married for?"

Sarah froze, resisting the urge to bare her teeth or narrow her eyes.

_Well aren't you subtle? _

Sharing wasn't something she did, especially not when it pertained to her private life. In the last five years she's revealed the fact she had a significant other to a grand total of two people: her lawyer and her boss.

And now here she was with her arm twisted behind her back.

"Six years give or take," Sarah confesses, and then with a bright smile adds: "It's amazing how the time flies, right?"

Epstein eagerly jots down a few lines on her notepad. "It must be, it's the first time I've seen you on the tech circuit." Ever the sly feline, Sarah suddenly feels like the reporter has caught her tongue on the lies she's trying to tell.

"Well, what can I say? This isn't really my cup of tea."

Epstein doesn't look like she completely buys that either. "Well, come to think of it, _no one_ has ever seen Charles Bartowski's wife in public before. _Ever_."

_Hence the legend._

Sarah takes a deep breath. She'd rather face a firing squad than this, at least the former would promise a swift end and not the drawn out torture of having to fill in the blanks of her so-called life.

"Well, Charles and I are very private people. We like...our privacy."

_That sounds terrible. You lie for a living and that's the best you can do? _

Epstein suddenly looked uneasy. "I just want you to know that your husband is quite brilliant at what he does. He's very well respected in his field."

Sarah's eyes widen and her cheeks flush at the subtle accusation. "I'm not embarrassed to be seen with him in public if that's what you're trying to say!"

Epstein shook her head innocently. "No! No, of course not." She scribbles some things in her notepad and Sarah thinks they're likely more damning than complimentary.

_Damn it._ She needed that drink—now.

"I'm just very busy in my own career. And Charles and I want to support each other in our separate endeavours but that isn't always possible." Sarah takes a deep breath, trying to think with a level head for once. "My father was very ill for a very long time. I had to move back to my old hometown to take care of him. So I'm sorry that I haven't been around that much, and I apologize for..." Sarah struggles to take the next few breaths. "I'm sorry...it's just...he died not too long ago and it's still hard to talk about—"

"Oh Mrs. Bartowski, I'm so sorry!"

Sarah accepts the proffered tissue and smiles inwardly behind the crocodile tears.

Another score for the pity card.

"I had no idea, I mean we all thought Mr. Bartowski made you up this whole time."

Sarah dabbed her eyes carefully. "Why would they think that?" she asked, looking wounded.

Epstein seemed reluctant to be the one to break the news to her. "Well, you've just never ever come to any of these events and no one's ever seen you. And the press loves to speculate and Mr. Bartowski didn't help matters by keeping mum."

The reporter fills the first page of her notepad and flips onto the next blank sheet.

"So when did you get out of the asylum?

Sarah tucks the stray strands of hair away from her ears, sure she's misheard her.

Epstein waits in rapt attention, her pen at the ready. "Well, you must have seen the reports that you'd be committed."

Sarah clears her throat. "I've never been in an asylum," she said. Her soft, serious tone is the only reason the reporter doesn't press any further. Her brows arch, she scribbles a couple notes, but ultimately the subject is dropped.

"How do you feel about reports that your husband is gay?"

"What!" Sarah squeaks, nearly bolting out of her chair. "Oh my God."

The thought that Chuck would be subject to any of these slanderous disgusted her.

"That's terrible!"

"I'm sorry," Epstein replies, shame-faced.

"But _why_ would they think all that?" What was so odd about someone who wanted to live away from the glaring public eye?

"Mrs. Bartowski, why do you think Charles is still consistently ranked number four on _Technology World'_s list of Most Eligible Bachelors despite the fact everyone knows he's married?"

"What are you trying to say?" Sarah asks and this time, not even the tears can dissuade the reporter from her main point. She can lie all she wants, but it would take more than a fifteen minute conversation to change the opinions built on five long years.

Epstein gazes down at her notes. "Would you consider Charles Bartowski an adequate lover?"

Sarah gapes, her jaw having long unhinged and fallen to the ground.

"It's a fair question. People want to know..."

"I don't believe that's any of your business!" Sarah clenches her fists, reminding herself over and over again that she couldn't attract attention here.

Epstein scribbles something quick. "So...that's a _no_ then?" she asks, her brows raising with intrigue.

There's only so much of this torture Sarah's willing to put herself through, cover or no cover.

"Now you're just being offensive," Sarah growls and stands to her feet. "This interview is over," she declares and stalks off in search of a stiff drink.


	13. Sunday A II

_A/N: Something for you guys before I run off for dinner; Happy Thanksgiving! Oh, and thanks everyone for taking the time to leave a note or two._

_As always, please also remember to thank the wonderful _**Altonish** _who has to deal with me and my plot-holes on a seemingly neverending basis. _

**Chapter 13: **_  
_

Sarah thinks the worst is over when she finishes the interview and returns to the main room.

Naturally she's proven wrong.

"Mrs. Bartowski?" A woman appears out of left field and extends a hand, halting Sarah before she can walk any closer to the open bar.

Sarah takes it hesitantly. "Yes, I don't believe we've met—"

"No, of course not," the woman dismisses. "Harriet Harding." Her voice is clipped and her attire is stifling. The woman's thin frame is wrapped in a chiffon dress that hugs every curve like cling-wrap. Just eyeing the tight neckline made Sarah feel strangled.

When Sarah doesn't show any sign of recognition, the woman narrows her eyes. "My husband is Warren Harding—of Harding Images and Arts?"

_Ah crap._ Sarah bites her lips. She should have done her homework instead of staying out late with the in-laws.

"I'm sorry; I tend to let my husband do his own thing." She laughs nervously and tries to get away with the excuse but the woman isn't having any of it.

Mrs. Harding rolls her eyes. "I _know_..." she drawls. "Aren't these things dreadful?"

Sarah had to admire a woman who spoke her mind.

"Please tell me your secret," the older woman implored, grabbing her arm. "Mental distress? Phantom pain? I have a very good doctor, I'm sure I can get him to write me a script for something..."

Sarah wrinkles her brows. "Oh, um—"

"Never mind. We can save that for later," the woman assured with a knowing wink. It didn't bode well for Sarah. "Now tell me, are you his first or his second?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, forgive me," the woman said, then ruined any chance for redemption when she explained: "I didn't think Charles would be on his third wife already, but then again, one never does know what occurs behind closed doors—"

"I am his first wife, _thank you_," Sarah informs, though the insinuations were closer to the truth than she liked.

Mrs. Harding smiles, oblivious to Sarah's growing vexation. "Oh, good for you. You should come to our First Wives Club. We meet at the hotel bar during horridly dry presentations, you should come. We don't invite just any one." The older woman winks again. "Vicky Rosen doesn't really constitute as a 'first wife' since it's really her third marriage but it's her husband's first _so..._"

"_Lovely_," Sarah says. "I'll be sure to keep you ladies in mind."

"Oh, Harriet, is that who I think it is?" someone exclaims from behind them.

Sarah's eyes widen and she realizes she's done for. She should have run for it when she had a chance.

A gaggle of wives close in for the kill, bringing her into their fold. Their eyes rove up and down, assessing her from head to toe. She can tell, behind the mask of forced smiles, that she's failed to meet their appraisal.

The women dress well-to-do; not everyone has the same stiff taste as Harriet and it's a surprisingly array of _haute couture _meets girls' night out but one thing's for sure.

It's like that book the teachers made her read when she was little. She's _Sarah, plain and tall. _Her dress is more suited for Sunday worship than an up and coming networking event. They're in the equivalent of ball-gowns and she's come in sweats. Just the hand of one of the wives was worth more than her entire ensemble put together.

Harriet puts an arm around Sarah, preventing her from any hope of escape.

"This is Charles Bartowski's wife..." Harriet looks at her with a hapless expression.

"Sarah," Sarah states.

"Right, Mrs. Sarah Bartowski." She hasn't been introduced as that in so long that she nearly doesn't believe it herself.

The women _ooh_ and _ahh_ as if she were some prize show-pony.

"So you've finally decided to make an appearance," a woman in a white sundress says. "And here we thought Chuck had made you up."

Sarah laughs but the joke is only a part of a bigger more painful truth.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well he always comes to these events alone. Never says much. Wouldn't even show us a picture." The other women begin to snicker. "You know, Sarah, our jobs are not always about the trips and the clothes."

"Yeah," another woman piped. "Sometimes you have to do your part."

Sarah tilted her head to one side; perhaps the view of the world on a slant would help explain all this nonsense. "I don't—"

"Of course you don't understand," the woman in the white sundress dismisses, looking over her attire with the same expression of disdain. "Perhaps if you kept your husband happy you wouldn't have to buy clothing from _stores_." She said the word as if it were an abomination.

"Oh, Vicky, that's so mean!" the woman beside her admonished, though she looked terribly pleased with the insult.

"But it's true, Becky. If she did her due diligence and posed as the arm candy every once in awhile, she wouldn't be in this mess. Look at me," she says with a flourish of her wrist. "Designers from all over the world _deliver_ dresses straight to my house in the hopes I'll be seen wearing them in public. And once you go private label, there's no going back." With a sympathetic smile, she patted Sarah's arm. "There, there. I hear this is your first. Don't worry, you'll learn."

Sarah smiles, trying in vain not to lash out and maim any of the toothpicks standing around her. "Thank you," she says through gritted teeth. "Now I see the error in my ways."

The girl named Becky frowns. "You know...you're not exactly what we had envisioned."

Sarah swallows the bitterness and makes nice. "No?" she asks innocently. "What did you have in mind?"

In her nervousness, she begins to twist her rings over and over again on her finger.

_Prettier? Nicer? Better? _

_God, what is it?_ she wants to demand.

The perpetrator shrugs. "I don't know," she says, perhaps too polite to tell the truth. "You're just not it." She shrugs again, as if it doesn't mean a thing, as if they're just supposed to continue as if she'd never said it.

She plasters on a fake smile and Sarah's seized with a need to grab onto the woman and shake the words out of her.

_What is it? _she wants to scream.

But instead she's filled with a sense of sadness; a perfect stranger has seen at a glance what took Chuck and her years to realize.

She wasn't the one.

"Okay, you've had your fun, now skedaddle."

The women twist their heads around like geese, sticking close together to avoid being in the way of the approaching speaker.

"Melinda Watts," Vicky Rosen greets with a less than enthused grin. "Lovely. You see, Sarah, there are some women who have the misfortune of being married to a man who will never compensate you for all your efforts. There is no excuse for such shoddy behaviour and if you are half the woman I hope you are, you'll mend that error."

Melinda smiles acridly at her. "I believe the term you use is '_upgrade'_ isn't it? Hmm, well enjoy your marriage before the warranty runs out. Perhaps next time he'll be the one to get the upgrade?" Sipping on her champagne with a wicked smile, she chose to ignore the look of disgust that passed over the other woman's face.

Sarah kept her expression neutral but deep down, she was grinning like an idiot.

"I hear they've put diamonds into the champagne. Go fish," she said with a wave of her hand. The women began to squeal at the prospect and quickly rushed off, leaving Sarah behind.

"That's quite generous of the sponsors," Sarah says with an amused grin.

Melinda took another dreg from her champagne flute. "_Very,_" she agrees with an arch of her brows. "Don't worry about them too much; they're just feeling threatened right now."

Taking her by the arm, Melinda leads her in the opposite direction of the wives, getting as far away from them as possible.

"Why?"

Melinda shrugged. "There's a status quo and you've disrupted it by actually showing this year. The girls like attention and they're not going to get any. You're a mystery, a legend—"

"Yes, I'm quite aware," Sarah says. "And please don't remind me."

Melinda smiles, completely sympathetic. "Charles Bartowski's been married since he first entered the video game and software scene but nobody's ever had a look at you." Melinda gave her an appreciate once-over. "You can't blame human nature."

There's squabbling by the refreshment table where the women fight for as many flutes of champagne as they can hold in their hands.

"You better watch out for her," Melinda warns, pointing to Becky. "Girls have been after Charles for years but Becky Birch is a grade above the rest."

"Girls?"

It was plural?

Melinda laughs softly. "It seems silly doesn't it? But the game and software industry is lucrative. The men can't get enough of the trophy wives and the arm candy and the women love the money. It's a match made in..."

"Modern day?" Sarah offers. She looks across the room at the perfect examples.

"They're the worst sort of people," Melinda says, watching as the women squabble and raise glass flutes to the lights in search of potential diamonds. "And you're looking at only the most successful of the pack. There's a whole bunch downstairs still hunting for some poor rich shmuck, just waiting to sink their hooks into them."

Sarah looks at the woman curiously. "What makes you think I'm not one of them?"

Melinda smirked. "You wouldn't believe some of the girls I've seen Charles blow off. He's never even blinked. I don't honestly believe he'd marry a bimbo gold digger. No offense if that's what you actually are."

Sarah laughed. "No, not exactly. Chuck worked at the Buy More when we first met."

Melinda snorted at that. "Seriously? He wasn't kidding about the inspiration behind his video game, huh?"

"I wasn't much better, I worked at the Weinerlicious."

"Weinerlicious?" Melinda's eyes were dancing with mirth as she tried not to laugh. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"That's perfect. How very Chuck."

Sarah bristles at the familiarity but it must only be a lapse because Melinda quickly changes back to the name everyone else knows him as.

"So Archie and Charles have been friends for some time now. How come I've never met you before? I mean Charles was a groomsman at our wedding, but he came by himself. We sent you an invite a full six months before the wedding."

Sarah sighed. "It's a long story."

"I see," Melinda says, and for the first time, her generally warm demeanour becomes brittle and cold."You should take better care of him. He's a really great guy."

"I know," Sarah acknowledged, swallowing the lump of guilt growing in the back of her throat. She eyed Melinda's empty flute of champagne and had to fight the sudden compulsion to run over to where the other wives were crowding.

"So how do you know Chuck again?"

Melinda looks at Sarah as if she's just sprouted a set of horns. "Charles' never mentioned us?"

"Uh...sorry, I'm sure he has," Sarah back-pedaled. "I'm honestly the most forgetful person on the planet—"

"Charles and I met at a game release. " Melinda rolled her eyes. "I know, right? I actually _play_ games, what were the odds?"

Sarah couldn't help but laugh. "You must have been every guy's fantasy."

"Hardly," Melinda says. "Anyway, Charles and I were some of the first to try out the new game, and I was good. I mean, I was _really_ good but Charles just thrashed me all night. Finally I had to find this guy that was beating the pants off of me all night."

Sarah wasn't sure she appreciated the figures of speech she was using but she didn't have time to interject.

"Finally I meet him and it turned out he was kind of cute. And funny. And surprisingly _normal._ You just don't usually see that combination at something as hardcore as a game release.

"So I thought maybe I'd take pity on him." Melinda blushes and shakes her head. "Imagine my surprise when I saw his wedding ring. We started talking and he was so nice...to be honest, I was kind of bummed he was married. I asked him about it and sure enough, you guys had already been married a few years by then.

"I was licking my wounded pride when Charles introduced me to Archibald Watts, I swear I almost fell over in shock. I'm sure you're aware of just how devastating Charles is when he's playing cupid." Melinda shrugged. "Archie was so sweet, I was smitten and the rest…well as they say, the rest is ancient history."

Sarah shook her head. "That's quite a story."

Melinda frowned. "I can't believe Charles never told you. Maybe we aren't as friendly as I thought."

"No! It's not you," Sarah rushed to explain. "Chuck and I don't get to see each other very much these days. When we do we have a lot of other things on our minds. This week is the most I've seen Chuck in quite some time."

"Oh. That's really too bad." As Ellie's stand-in, Melinda gave the appearance that she didn't fully believe everything Sarah was telling her. "Well, just remember what I said about Ms. Birch."

She nodded in the direction of the stunning woman in scarlet red and excused herself. "Oh and the next time Charles comes for a visit, why don't you accompany him?" Melinda levelled a devastating gaze at her. "He's been very lonely doing all that traveling on his own, and I could use someone I can beat at video game night."


	14. Sunday A III

_A/N: Blarg, had a bad day today and didn't want to do my homework so now you may reap the benefits of my poor work ethic. _

_Any time a sentence sounds really smart...thank **Altonish**.  
_

**Chapter 14: **

Sarah's on her second glass of champagne and she thinks now she's really going to be in for it. She's already been written off as a frump and disinterested wife, but now they're going to add her as a rampant alcoholic.

No wonder Chuck's kept her from public view all this time, she thinks wryly as she takes another gulp.

The day hasn't gone exactly as she'd hoped. Chuck's been kidnapped by another journalist eager for a one on one and she's finally managed to excuse herself for some much needed alone time. And she still has no idea who the potential culprits are.

"Bored?"

The stranger catches her when she least expects it and Sarah whips around, hastily wiping spilled champagne off her dress.

The man laughs and it only makes her blush all the more.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm usually not this much of a klutz."

"No..." he agrees even though he doesn't even know her. "Chris Hawkins," the man introduces and extends his hand. "Star-Hawk Electronic Arts."

"Sarah Bartowski, computer illiterate."

They share a laugh as they shake hands. He's tall and toned; it's easy to tell by the way he fits his suit. She guesses his age at around late thirties-early forties, though he has hardly a wrinkle to show for it. His eyes are mischievous and blue like the ocean, and his hair is a sun-bleached blond. Her first thought is Devon, her brother-in-law, and for some reason the association improves his standing in her eyes.

"Ah, Mrs. Bartowski?" The man sounds a tad disappointed and he doesn't try to hide it either. "No wonder Charles has been hiding you from sight. If I had known you were so beautiful, I would have stolen you away a long time ago."

Sarah laughed forcibly. "Does that line ever work?"

Chris gave a good natured smile and replied, "Would you believe me if I said _all the time_?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Sorry. In all honesty though, it's a pleasure to meet you. Your husband's quite the enigma."

"Is he?" Sarah was learning more about Chuck today than she was about her objectives.

"Ah, the guy's practically a recluse. I've known him for years, but he's probably never said five words that weren't about work. He's obsessed about this kind of stuff.

"Let me guess, you asked him out on your first date?"

Sarah wanted to give Chuck the credit but her smile already gave it away.

Hawkins snapped his fingers. "I knew it!"

"He asked me out on our second first date, so I'd say we're about even," she reveals.

"It must be very lonely for you living with such a workaholic."

Sarah shrugged. "I stay busy." She waved at the herd of bimbos off in their own clique. "I don't believe I've met your wife yet."

"I'm not married," Hawkins replied, flashing his ring-less hands. "Bit of an oddity here, I'm afraid."

"Well it seems you have plenty of options."

Chris scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that's fun for a while when you're twenty five. I prefer more _interesting_ women."

Sarah squirmed slightly. She had flirted with sleazebags all over the world, but something about this software developer was actually starting to bother her.

"So are you new to LA?"

"No, actually my _husband_ and I used to live in LA. We moved East for work."

The man looked as if she'd just stuck him with a pin; all his hopes rapidly deflating.

"Oh, that's really too bad."

"Mmhmm..." Sarah takes a drink and uses the opportunity to scan the crowd.

"Listen, if you ever want to get a coffee, or a drink—"

"Hey...Chris!" Chuck swoops in out of nowhere and takes Sarah in his arms. "Not stealing my wife away are you?" Chuck's joke falls slightly flat and he looks between the two of them with a look that was fast becoming troubled.

Hawkins smiles vaguely in Chuck's direction. "We were just catching up. You've done the world a great injustice by keeping her hidden away."

Chuck's grip around her waist tightened and Sarah tries to read behind the forced smile on his face. Was this still part of their cover?

"Well, I'm glad you two are better acquainted now. We've got a busy day though, so you'll have to excuse us."

Without waiting for a response, Chuck begins to drag her away. What he's done is completely out of character and yet for some reason, she's glad for it.

"I think we need to talk about what you're really doing here," Chuck says in a low whisper as they moved quickly towards the coatroom.

"Chuck," she hissed back. "That's on a need to know basis. And you don't _need_ to know."

He stops abruptly and brings her close. It was a rare gesture of intimacy, only when he lowered his lips towards her ear she realized the gesture was only for appearances' sake.

"We need to talk, Sarah."

Her eyes already held the answer. "_Chuck..._"

"I flashed."

* * *

_Chuck is still the Intersect. And so long as he remains the Intersect, everything is as it should be. The world continues to spin on its axis, she still wakes to the sight of him and his tousled hair, and she gets to stay another day in paradise. _

_It's too good to be true. The job, the man; the best of both worlds. _

_Sarah should have known it couldn't last. _

_Happiness was reserved for more deserving people and Chuck spells it out for her one day. _

"_You're mad at me, and I don't understand why." Casey would be proud of his forwardness. Unfortunately he's already moved to bigger and better things; Chuck's not the only Intersect that needs protecting these days. _

_"And I don't understand why you won't accept the update." Sarah crosses her arms across her chest, adopting the classic 'if I have to explain it to you then you just don't get it' pose. _

_"Because I don't want to." He furrows his brows and clasps her arm, trying to sway her mind. "Why is that so hard for you to understand?" _

_Sarah narrows her eyes. "Because if you don't remain relevant, they're going to reassign me." _

_Chuck lets go of her arm, threatening to adopt a similar pose to hers. "We're married now, Sarah, they can't do that. We're legally together." _

_It's so simple for him. There is only right and wrong; yes and no. He doesn't understand things like loopholes and obligations and sacrifices. He doesn't see the greater good and her boss is all about that. _

_ "What's so wrong about working with me?" she asks in a quiet voice. "We're a good team." She probes his eyes for an answer, for some way to compromise, but he's surprisingly unrelenting. _

_"I don't want to keep putting my life on hold," he says. _

_Sarah bristles at the instigation. "What do you mean..._on hold_?" This is their life, their house, their mortgage. What more did he want? _

_Chuck doesn't immediately respond. The deafening silence speaks for itself and with each passing second, things become clearer and clearer to Sarah. _

_"Wait." She looks at him in disbelief. "You've been waiting for me to quit!" _

_Chuck doesn't deny it. He doesn't even look guilty. _

_"Chuck!" _

_"When is it going to be enough? When are you going to see that one of these days it's going to—" He stops because the thought is too terrible even to voice aloud. Chuck shakes his head. "Why do you love it so much? Why can't you just be happy with this life?" He points to the ground but he should have pointed to himself; because isn't that what he really means? _

Why can't you be happy with me?

_"Chuck!" she warns, just barely holding back her temper. The last thing she wants to do is start a fight. _

_"I just..." He clenches his fists in frustration. "I want more. I want my life back, is that so much to ask? I don't want to work two jobs; I don't want to stick my neck out on the chopping block every week. I don't want to worry about dying all the time. I _really _don't want to worry about _you _dying all the time. _

"_It's driving me crazy. We've made it this far not because we're better than they are or smarter or faster. It's because we've been lucky and someday..." _

_Chuck swallows his words. He can't bring himself to say it. _

Someday something terrible will happen and it will destroy everything we've built.

Someday I'm going to kiss you and never realize it will be our last kiss.

Someday all I'll have are the photographs.

"_I don't want to lie to everyone we know. I just want a life without lies and secrets—" _

_"This _is_ my life, Chuck," she stresses. She knows no other. _

_Chuck takes a step back, stunned. They were both stunned. _

_"I see..." he says, even though he doesn't look like he truly does. "I'm sorry." _

_ Sarah's not sure what Chuck is apologizing for and it takes a long time before she truly understands the impact of his words and to realize that Chuck wasn't the only one who was sorry it had come to this. _

* * *

"Chuck, are you going to tell me about your flash or not?"

The answer appeared to be a no. Silencing her with his revelation, he seemed satisfied with the result and left it at that.

Sarah chased after him, out of the convention hall, out into the parking lot, all the way into his car. She slid into the passenger seat and stared at him, willing him to speak.

"Chuck..."

She watched and waited but his brown eyes were distant and detached.

She knows without asking what he's thinking about.

"You know my flashes aren't accurate. I haven't had an update in five years."

There's something else he isn't saying. _That he might be wrong. That he's been wrong before. _

That's what he wants to say but won't. The sadness is all there in his features; she knows without a word passing between them what he's thinking of.

"I'll call the Director. Ask him what he thinks."

Chuck turns to look at her and for a second his eyes are filled with panic. The look is quickly replaced by one of regret. Now he'll never tell her anything.

"Have you flashed on anyone else?

"Why are you in LA?"

Sarah ignores the question. "Is there anyone else?"

Chuck leans against the side-window and gazes outside. Sarah sighs.

"I don't want to lie to you." That was her final answer. "Is there anyone else?"

Chuck shakes his head.

They sit in uncomfortable silence trapped in the stifling heat of a metal box that's been under the unrelenting midday sun.

She can't breathe, but she doesn't want to leave either.

"Are you here to protect me or are you here for something else?"

Sarah gives him a look as if to say 'this isn't twenty-one questions'.

"Can't I be here for both?"

Chuck leans back in his seat and stares at the short ceiling. "Hawkins isn't the person you are looking for."

"How can you be so sure?"

Chuck shrugged. "A lot about a person can change after five years." The way he says it makes Sarah wonder if they are still talking about Hawkins.

"And some things never do," Sarah reminds. She's not so sure she's talking about Hawkins either. "He's the only lead I have."

"Maybe if you told me what you were looking for—"

No. The last thing she wanted was for him to get himself involved after taking such pains to remove himself from this life.

"Perhaps I should pursue the lead with Hawkins." A part of Sarah knows she's only said it so he'll stop talking.

Chuck looks at her, and she doesn't dare turn to meet his gaze. She's seen that look a thousand times over.

"If it's what you want," he says, each word chosen with care. He doesn't let on if he's jealous or indifferent or otherwise.

They sit in silence once again, letting it build between them like an impenetrable wall.

"You should get back, you have responsibilities," Sarah says. She doesn't say anything about herself.

Chuck nods but he makes no move to open the car door.

"I'm going to call the Director." For some inexplicable reason, Sarah wants to reach out and hold his hand. She doesn't want him to leave. "See what he wants me to do."

Chuck nods. "Do you want to have lunch?"

Sarah looks at him as if he's just asked if she likes hippopotamuses.

"What?"

"Lunch. You know, the second most important meal of the day?" He's still refusing to look at her, but it's a start. "Nothing's really going on this afternoon. Maybe some free keychains and LED flashlights if you're into that sort of thing. Oh and there's a talk by Ron Dinkins on the future of disk I/O contention in execution of 3D rendering engines. I'm sure you'd _love_ to sit through that."

Sarah manages, despite herself, to laugh at what she hoped was only a joke. Did people seriously pay to listen to that kind of stuff?

_It's just lunch,_ she tells herself. Everyone needs to eat lunch. Plus sitting through that talk with Chuck sounded suicidal. Her only other option would be joining Harriet Harding and the First Wives Club…

"Well, we _are_ already in the car. "

Chuck nods in agreement. "That we are."


	15. Sunday A IV

_A/N: It's hard writing stories back to back when they are polar opposites so no BP chapter this time. Plus it might have taken me all weekend to write the next chapter and really, isn't it better to rip the bandaid off fast instead of dragging it out?  
_

_ Thank you everyone for all your reviews; I've been really backlogged lately and I feel rather guilty that I haven't been able to respond to all of you but I do appreciate the input. In response to the overwhelming amount of comments regarding the level of angst, I just have to say that this story is set over the course of a week and we're only on Monday, so hold your horses. They've been apart for five years, they can be apart for another day or two =P _

_Besides, I think the title of the story kind of says it all, don't you? _

_And as always, **Altonish** was an immense help in the development of this chapter. I don't want to spoil things, but in the original version Chuck and Sarah weren't going to have lunch together. It was Sarah and someone else.  
_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 15: **_  
_

_There are no coincidences in life_. Her mother believed that, and Sarah's spent her whole life trying to disprove it. She hates words like _destiny _and _karma; _she's a control-freak and right now, things are getting out of control.

But say there are no coincidences in life.

Then it must be the cruel hand of fate that strikes while she's walking down Main Street waiting for Chuck as he parks the car around the corner.

"Sarah? Sarah Walker, is that you?"

She turns around and feels as if she's being visited by a ghost. He's no more than a decade older than she is, but he looks nearly twice her age.

"Carl Engels, it's been a long time."

The man hobbles forwards on his cane and offers her his hand. It becomes too much for her though and she wraps him in an embrace, surprising herself with her lack of professionalism.

_Damn it._ Five years out and she still tears up with the recollection.

"How are you, Sarah?" he asks, a bright smile on his face. It's been so long since she's seen that smile.

"Good. I'm good, Carl." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to compose herself. "I'm just in LA for a few days on business. What were the odds I'd run into you?"

"Right?" he asks, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "Good to see you, Sarah. It's been too long."

Sarah couldn't agree more. Another few seconds of this and she might end up as a snivelling mess on the ground. "How's Soph? Not getting into too much trouble I hope."

Carl laughs at the instigation and his eyes too are growing misty with the memories.

"Well just enough to keep me busy," he jokes. "Are you..." Carl hesitates and they both know how dangerous it is to ask after things without certainty. The man's smile falls as he presses forwards. "Is everything good with you?"

"Chuck is great," Sarah says, as if reading his thoughts. _He's alive._ A look of relief flits across the man's eyes. "He's doing very well for himself in his work."

The look of worry returns and Sarah doesn't understand what she's said wrong.

"There's actually a convention here in town...that's the reason for this trip..." The more she speaks, the deeper the furrows settle in the older man's expression.

"Are you two still together?" he asks, halting her in her ramblings.

Sarah held up her hand so she wouldn't have to give a straight response.

"Is that a yes?" he asks, forcing her to say it.

"Yes," she says, just as Chuck crosses the street and reaches her side. Desperate to pretend like nothing is amiss, she turns around and grabs his hand. "Chuck, look who it is."

Carl leans on his cane and nods politely at Chuck.

"Oh wow, Carl, how are you?" The men act warily around one another but it would be unfair to say they weren't happy to see one another again. "It's been a long time. Three years, right?"

"I haven't seen you since you left LA," Carl clarifies, almost for Sarah's sake. "How have the two of you been?"

He looks to Sarah in particular and she knows what the man really means. Chuck must have told him after she'd left.

"We're good." When the answer doesn't feel adequate, Chuck throws in another few words as fodder for the fire. "Great. Everything is fine. We're here for a convention.

"How are you and Soph—"

"We're doing well." Carl smiles and shifts awkwardly in his place. Things didn't feel quite right with just the three of them here together. The Engels had always been more Sarah's friends than Chuck's. And now, with only the past to connect them, it was just that much harder.

Perhaps it was because Beckman had been the one to introduce them, or perhaps Chuck just disliked the comparisons that people would inevitably draw if they knew the truth.

"It was nice running into you again," she says to spare either of them the awkwardness. Sarah says it like a goodbye but she knows it's far from it. "Tell Soph I said 'hello'."

Carl nods. He understands. "Will do. Nice meeting you again."

Chuck and Sarah watch as the older man hobbles off on his cane. It just doesn't seem fair.

_Is it so wrong to want it all?  
_

"Sarah?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Sorry, did you say something?"

Chuck points to the diner they've been standing in front of, just staring and making no move to go in. "Lunch?"

He'd mentioned in the car that he was starving because all he'd had to eat at the convention center was a packet of crackers but neither of them looked interested in food at the moment.

"Sorry." Sarah tries to shake off the chance encounter. "Seeing Carl is like seeing a ghost."

"I know," Chuck agrees. "That's why I haven't been back to see them since…well, since we left. I called him after… I mean I didn't know if you would and I didn't want him to think we'd just stopped talking to him." Chuck halts before he rambles any further.

With a sigh and a shake of the head, he looks in the window to the diner. "Come on, the service in here is really slow. I'm sure by the time they actually bring our food we'll be hungry again."

Sarah just nods and follows Chuck inside.

* * *

_Sarah checks her cell en route. It's been one hell of an evening but the adrenaline is leaving her body as quickly as it came and all she wants to do is crawl into bed and wake up in about a month. _

Eleven missed calls.

_"Damn," she curses under her breath as she tosses the phone back into her pack. Her partner for the time being gives her a look but she ignores him. _

_Stripping down and changing back into civilian clothes whilst the van is still in motion, she contemplates what she's going to say to Chuck. It's a quarter past two in the morning, so in all likelihood he's given up waiting for her and gone to bed. _

_All the better. _

_They can delay this argument by another day. _

_"You in a hurry to get somewhere, Walker?" her partner asks. _

_Sarah rolls her eyes. "Way to state the obvious," she growls. The mission was only supposed to take two to three hours, not five. _

_She opens her pack and slips her wedding band and ring back on. Her partner watches her, and can only shake his head. _

_"What?" She feels seconds from launching herself at him even though he hasn't even said a word. _

_"Nothing." He shrugs. "It's _your_ life." _

_Sarah bites her tongue. Her anger is misdirected but there's no one for her to aim it at. Chuck didn't get the update he needed, but that was his choice. _

_And this was solely hers. To keep her job she's had to find work elsewhere. They're still together, she still sees him more or less, but she can't help but feel like their lives have hit a fork in the road. _

_The van drops her off at the park near her home. She jaywalks across the empty road and down the familiar street. _

_She slips the key in the hole and walks in, quietly shutting it behind her. She drops her things in the hall and slips into the kitchen. On the counter is a note in Chuck's handwriting about dinner being in the fridge and _Party on Friday at Ellie's. Can you make it?

_Sarah looks through the mail scattered beside the note and realizes their lives have already diverged. He's living the life he's always wanted and so is she, but it's not the same life, not even close. Somewhere along the way they've split and there's no going back. _

_As quietly as she can, Sarah sneaks upstairs and tip-toes into the master bedroom. Chuck's sleeping form lies perfectly still on his half of the bed, away from her. She's filled with a sense of relief that there will be no arguments tonight; she can lie against his warm body and sleep in peace. _

_As she moves to the bathroom, she hears the sheets rustle. It's enough to make her freeze in mid-step, one foot still arched in the air. _

_Sarah holds her breath and waits for it. There's a long moment of silence, as if Chuck, too, is waiting for her to do something. _

"_How was the spa?" he finally asks. _

Was that what she said it was?_ Sarah bites her tongue. She tells him about some of the missions she goes on, but the ones that are too spur of the moment, the times when she thinks she can be in and out without his notice—_

_It's more for her conscience than his. _

"_It was fine," she lies. There's no spa that's open until two in the morning and he knows it. _

_The tension begins to build as Sarah enters the bathroom and shuts the door, hiding herself from him. She turns the tap all the way until the steam of the hot water threatens to fog the mirror and takes a deep breath. This is as close to a spa as she's going to get today. _

_Stripping off her sweater, she notes a bloodstain on the hem of her tee, and then following the source, realizes to her horror that she has blood on her hands. She grabs the soap and begins to scrub furiously, trying to wash away all the evidence of what she's done. _

_It feels like a losing battle. There's blood under her fingernails, blood stained into the creases of her palm, blood everywhere. _

_Suddenly the door bursts open. Sarah jumps and drops the soap. Her hands are raw from all the wringing and scrubbing and it's as good as being caught red-handed. _

_Chuck doesn't walk into the light. He stands at the threshold and looks at her, his hair rumpled from a night of tossing and turning. _

"_Be honest with me. Did you marry me because you wanted to or was it just easier for you to do your job?" _

_Sarah tries to busy herself by washing her hands in the sink. "Where's this coming from, Chuck?" _

"_Just answer the question." His eyes threaten to burn a hole through the back of her skull but Sarah's too afraid of saying the wrong thing. If she says 'yes' he'll call her a liar, if she says 'no' he won't believe her. _

_And when she doesn't say anything at all, he looks like he finally understands. The moment of bravado falls and Chuck looks at her like a child, his eyes full of questions she doesn't have the answer to. _

"_No, of course not," she says, seconds too late. She rubs her eyes. "Damn it, Chuck, I'm tired." _I don't want to fight anymore. _"Can we talk about this in the morning, please?" _

_Chuck clenches his jaws. "You won't be here in the morning," he whispers, the words barely audible over the hissing tap. _

"_You know I didn't." She waits for him to come to the realization; surely he'll see it. There's no way the government could _force_ her to marry him for the sake of a mission, there's no way she could have been faking it all this time. _

"_Chuck!" she warns when he doesn't say anything. "You _know_!" _

"_Sometimes I feel like now that I'm no longer relevant, this marriage has lost its usefulness for you." _

_The words come as a slap in the face. It's not like him to say something so hurtful and not apologize, but even as the accusation settles in the air between them, his expression is just as unrelenting as it's ever been. _

_He turns around and grabs his pillow with the full intention of sleeping elsewhere. _

"_Chuck!" She runs after him and stops him at the doorway. "Please...don't do this..." _

_He looks at her and she can tell he's tired of this too. "I want more," he tells her plainly. "I want a wife to come home to every night. I want kids. A dog. A home. I want a life with you." He looked at her, hapless and out of words. "Don't you want the same?" _

I just want you.

_"Please don't make me choose," she begs. _Please don't. Because I can't. I don't know how.

_Chuck's expression grows grim. He sighs and it's the sound of a man who sees his inevitable defeat. _

"_I think you already have." _


	16. Sunday A V

_A/N: Are you guys getting bored with me? =( _

_The lunch date was **Altonish's** idea; the dinner date was mine. He deserves thanks for the Chuck/Sarah.  
_

**Chapter 16: **

Sarah stares across at the man sitting at her table, taking in everything from his bright silver cufflinks to the four-o'clock shadow around his chin. It was hard to imagine him as anything but a nice guy.

_Nice or nice to look at? _

When he catches her red-handed in the act, he merely smiles and looks back down at the menu.

"To be honest, I was surprised you wanted to have dinner with me."

Sarah shrugs and smiles demurely, half her face hidden by the menu. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you didn't seem all that interested in spending any time with me this morning," he says with a mischievous smirk.

"Well I suppose I felt sorry for you. A man who is rich _and_ single? Well, that's a dangerous combination."

Hawkins laughs; it was only funny because it was true.

"What looks good?" Sarah asks, scanning the menu. She wasn't hungry in the least, but she needed his attention.

Hawkins looks up from the sheet of text with a winning smile but the smile quickly falls as he looks past her.

"I might be mistaken," he says as he leans away from her, giving themselves as much space as possible without physically leaving his seat. "But isn't that your husband?"

Sarah furrows her brows. "What?" She cranes her neck and realizes much to her horror that Chuck is standing at the entrance of the restaurant, searching for her.

Blood rushes to her head. "Excuse me for one second, please," she says as she rises slowly from her seat. She collects her clutch and walks at a controlled pace towards the front of the restaurant, refusing to look even a fraction of the agitation she truly felt.

"Chuck, what are you doing here?" she hisses, grabbing him by his jacket and pulling him outside. "How did you find me?"

"Melinda told me she overheard your conversation with Chris." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I know you wanted to follow this lead but I didn't think you'd be so efficient at your job."

His words cut her deep. "Well I'm good at what I do," she retorts.

"Yeah. I know." His eyes are like lumps of coal and the scowl on his face was something of an anomaly. "You're wasting your time here."

"You seem rather convinced for someone who hasn't been briefed—"

Sarah stops herself before things become too déjà vu. She hasn't been back for longer than a day and they're already fighting.

"Hawkins isn't what you would call a gentleman," Chuck says finally. By then the scowl had diminished to only a bitter twist of the lip and nothing more. It was hard for Sarah not to notice though, especially when she studied him as closely as she did. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He didn't say what he really meant though; _I'm giving you an out, if you want it. _

Sarah raised her brows. Did she?

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

Chuck takes a step towards the parking lot. A step away from her.

"Yeah, I know," he says, the bitterness a tough pill for her to swallow. "You don't need anyone."

Without waiting to hear her reply, he leaves.

* * *

Sarah returns to her seat, struggling to hide the fact Chuck's appearance has shaken her at the very core. He'd walked away without looking back, like someone who's made up his mind about something. Someone who wasn't going to leave with any regrets.

And she'd just stood there. She's lost so many opportunities before, and she doesn't know how many more she'll get. Perhaps this was the last straw.

She's proven herself irredeemable.

"Sorry about that," Sarah says with a forced smile.

Hawkins grins at her, so full of smugness it was impossible to hide. It had a jarring affect on his otherwise handsome features.

"I don't think your husband was too happy seeing us here."

Sarah stares blankly at him. "Well, I don't think he really has a say." She tilts her head and gives an innocent laugh. "Charles and I rarely see each other these days. Besides, we're just two adults having dinner."

He smiles at her and Sarah has a feeling it's not dinner he's thinking about.

"You know I didn't think you were real. I saw a photo of you once in Charles' office and I mean..._wow!_" He gives her an appraising glance from the waist up. "I mean...come on..."

Sarah narrows her eyes. "What?"

"Well, Charles is a nice guy and all but I don't see what the two of you could have had in common. He's all about his computers and his codes and _you..._" Sarah swears if he stares at her any longer she'll stab his eyes out with her salad fork. "I'll bet you felt like a Botticelli in the basement.

"I would never do that to you."

Sarah finds it harder and harder to hold a smile but still she presses on. "Do what?"

"Leave you behind while I jet-set across the globe."

Her eyes flash dangerously but Hawkins mistakes it for intrigue. There's no other explanation for this brand of bold ignorance.

"Be honest with me here, Sarah," he says with a dashing grin. "How much did Charles pay you?"

* * *

.

_Okay this was just a teaser for what follows. I wanted to test out **Altonish**'s theory about the weekend slump. If you're reading and you've got a pulse and you want more, you're eligible for an update sooner than later. Click on the green button below to find out more. _


	17. Sunday A VI

_A/N: So...people DO read on the weekend. Will this mean Sunday is the new Monday? _

_Thank you for all your comments.__ It was overwhelming in a largely positive way which is good; I write more when I know people want to read more, not when people threaten to stop reading if I don't hurry up. _

_**To those whose feathers i seem to have ruffled...is there some arcane rule that stipulates that Sarah cannot have dinner with any other man besides her husband? As for Chuck's reputation, why must everyone assume she's going to bed the man simply because she accepted an offer for dinner? Why can't she get to know Chuck's colleagues through a conversation in a social setting? Sarah had lunch with her husband in the morning, does that mean she absolutely has to have dinner with him in the evening?  
_

_**And to those who've pointed out that Chuck is being a whiny, pitiful, snivelling whatever; why is it pitiful if he lets her make her own decisions? And why is it pathetic if he doesn't want to cause a huge scene and fight with her in the middle of the parking lot? _

_Yes, this fic has angst. Yes, it's sad. If you want fluff perhaps you should read about little lambs.  
_

_Now let's all take a deep breath. _

_Okay. Now please enjoy.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 17: **

Sarah walks through the front door and slams it shut. She heads straight for the kitchen without bothering to remove her heels and tosses the take-out container onto the counter.

It slides over to Chuck but he ignores it. He gives her a nod of the head; then goes back to the newspaper spread open in front of him.

"How was dinner?" he eventually asks when Sarah makes it known she's not leaving without a conversation of some sort.

It's merely a formality. Chuck knows exactly how dinner went.

"It was a bust." She hadn't been able to get any information out of him that was even remotely relevant, had been insulted countless times for her efforts and despite sitting through three hours of dinner, she'd been so disgusted she hadn't eaten more than a few crumbs the entire time.

Chuck finally looks up from the pages. "Yeah, well don't say I didn't tell you so."

Sarah narrows her eyes at him.

"I told you it was an old flash," he reminds. "You were wasting your time."

He did, but that wasn't the point.

"Then why did you have to pull me away like that?"

Chuck goes back to the paper. "When?" he asks, sounding deceptively disinterested.

"At the convention. You grabbed me and pulled me away." She glared at him, demanding that he look at her. "You made it seem like a big deal. And then you go and tell me it's not. So forgive me if I'm just a little confused."

Chuck continues to stare at the newspaper, but he hasn't flipped a page in the last five minutes. Maybe he's reading, maybe he's not, but one thing's for sure. He's avoiding eye-contact at all cost.

"Why did you pull me away?" she repeats.

Chuck's stance tenses but he doesn't let it show in his expression.

Had he been jealous?

_And if he were? _

"What are you trying to say?" he asks. "That I faked a flash? That I'm a flash faker?"

Sarah clenches her fists, hiding them behind her back; she _hates_ it when he says that. Doesn't he realize that he's the only person in her whole life she's actually trusted? How can he think she doubts him? Her anger is misguided, but Chuck is the closest target.

"You did this to spite me, didn't you?" She begins to chew on her lips again. "You had me think it was something important so I'd degrade myself with him."

Chuck finally looks up, a flash of concern making a rare appearance on his face.

"Did something happen?"

"No." A pause. "Are you disappointed?"

Chuck raises his head and gives a disgusted sneer. "You know, that's really low—even for you."

"As low as pushing your wife to investigate someone you know is only out for a cheap fuck?"

"I didn't…"

"You sure as hell did," Sarah growls. "Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't show up at the restaurant because you were feeling guilty?"

Chuck didn't say anything at all. He just sat there and he finally mumbled. "Maybe if you'd tell me why you're here I could actually help you, instead of having to watch you flirt with my colleague."

Sarah takes a deep breath. They've been walking on tiptoe around each other and she just couldn't stand it any longer.

"Look at me if you have something to say."

Chuck does and he doesn't and it infuriates her to no end. He's looking at her but his eyes are distant and hollow.

She doesn't even care about Hawkins, screw Hawkins; it had nothing to do with her mission and everything to do with Chuck.

"What is this really about, Sarah?" He calls her out on and it and it's a bold thing to do for someone who won't even look her in the eye.

"Damn it, Chuck, I want you to _look_ at me!"

Chuck blinks and his eyes finally come into focus. "You left, Sarah, I never asked for an out. You gave up on us." The chains on his bitterness and anger fall loose and like a feral animal finally set free, he holds nothing back.

Sarah takes a step back but Chuck's no longer playing nice. All the things they couldn't-wouldn't say to one another becomes fair game and five years worth of bitterness and unanswered questions form the betting stacks.

"I only gave you what you wanted," she says quietly. He had no right to be upset with her when she only complied with his requests.

"I wasn't done being married yet!" Chuck snaps angrily.

"Chuck, it wasn't working. All we did was fight—"

"_You_ gave up, Sarah!" he says, pointing as he fired the accusation at her. "You quit on us."

"_Us_?" The idea was so ridiculous Sarah wants to laugh. "You didn't want an '_us', _you wanted normal and as you so clearly pointed out to me, I was never going to be that!"

Chuck stiffened. Every muscle in his body was clenched; his jaw was so rigid the bones nearly jutted out of his skin. But he didn't say anything to defend himself.

"You didn't even try," he says. His voice had grown soft but they still hit with just as much force. "You didn't even make an effort. You said you cared about me..." He shakes his head and raises his hand before she can think of defending herself. "When I said I loved you, I would have done anything for you. And you...you just wait until it gets to be too much and then you walk out. You're just like my parents. As soon as you can't take the pressure any more you run out the door and leave Ellie to clean up your mess."

Sarah turns her face like she's been slapped. "Chuck," she whispers. "It wasn't easy for me."

_How could he even think that? _

"You weren't happy. You weren't living the life you said you wanted..."

Chuck's eyes flash with anger. "So you did it for my sake?" He shakes his head. "No. Don't you dare pin this on me. You ran because _you _couldn't take it anymore."

He looks at her and in that moment, she's never felt so small and insignificant.

"It's the only thing you're really good at."

Sarah tries to glare at him but she couldn't match the raw pain and resentment pooled in Chuck's eyes. Suddenly she realizes he's been sparing her by avoiding eye contact.

When had Chuck become capable of this kind of hate?

"You wouldn't—"

"Understand?" he finished. "You're right, I wouldn't. I never have. I don't understand how someone can promise to stand by you forever and then just up and leave. I don't understand how someone can marry you and never tell you that they love you. I don't understand a lot of things, Sarah, but understand this.

"It was real for me. When I said I wanted to marry you, I meant it. And when I said I loved you, I did. And when you left me—" His voice catches just the slightest when he goes back to that moment. "Well, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Chuck pushes back the barstool and gets to his feet.

"Where..." Sarah follows after him, still trembling from his caustic words. "Where are you going?"

"Why?" he asked, barely turning his back. "Are you going to wait for me to come back? That would certainly be a change." He means more than his actions when he says it, and Sarah doesn't have an answer for him.

They both know things will all go back to the way it was by the end of the week.

"Maybe you should give Hawkins a call, perhaps he'd be up for a night cap."

He walks through the door and doesn't look back. Sarah looks for something anything to throw at him, but the counter is remarkably bare.

Sarah watches the door slam shut and listens to his footsteps fade away. Sitting in the darkness, after she's had some time to settle down, she realizes that he's right. He always has been.

It's why she prefers to just get mad rather than rationalize, because reflection always sucks.

.

She had been the one to give up. She'd been the one willing to make the sacrifices he could never. She was the one who felt left behind emotionally, so she had to be the first to leave physically.

Chuck was lying to himself if he thought he wouldn't have pulled the rip cord eventually. The rate at which they were falling into the abyss...it was just a matter of time. Nobody plummets all the way to the ground. She'd saved him the trouble of breaking her heart. She'd done it for him.

Sarah had a moment of self-pity, and then she knew she couldn't allow herself to go on like this any longer. Another second more and she'll fall down the familiar hole; the tears, the incurable chest pangs, the guilt—the pathetic mess she's promised herself never to revert to again.

Returning to the kitchen, she rifles through the cabinets, displacing the perfect order of the unused space. She knows she's losing precious time and by the time she finally finds what she's looking for she's almost lost it. Her hands are shaking so badly pouring the contents into a glass seems like a total waste.

After two tries she takes a pull directly from the bottle. She drinks the poison in quick gulps and waits for the burning bitterness to spread to the rest of her body.

It takes one kind of pain to make her forget another.

Finally after several greedy gulps she calms enough to pour some into a glass. She fills it halfway and gulps it down like water.

Halfway through the bottle the tears are staunched and after four-fifths she forgets why she's miserable in the first place. Thinking of anything but the amber poison is useless now.

If she dwells too long on the thought she'll remember all over again so she forgets the glass, why did she need it anyway? She puts her lips around the rim and throws her head back. So long as she keeps drinking, she won't remember. And so long as she keeps running, nothing will ever catch up to her.

* * *

_"Darlin?" _

_Sarah has her eyes fixed on the ice-cream stand just a few feet away. The brightly decorated posters are practically calling her name, and the throngs of children with frozen treats in their mouths are more temptation than she knows how to handle. _

_"Hey, are you listening to me?" _

_Sarah nods her head but the whole time she's just trying to swallow the drool that's pooling in her mouth. She decides this has to be her father's personal brand of torture. It's sweltering outside and to offer her the hope of something she wants more than anything but always keeping it out of arm's reach was just cruel. _

_"Hey!" Her father snaps his finger and the crisp sound serves to sever her from her dreams. "I'm trying to teach you something important here." _

_"Can we get ice cream first?" she asks. He looks annoyed and it's not fair. She wants to tell him she's only ten, but she already knows the kind of response she'll get. _

Only ten? Darlin', when I was ten I was already on my own...

_Her father's reminders never make her feel as grateful as he intends. _

_"This is more important than ice cream," he says. "You said something to me just now that you shouldn't have." _

_Sarah looks at him quizzically. She chews on the corner of her lip, trying to reel back the moments to play again in the back of her mind. _

_"I did?" _

_She was cautious; her father's made sure of that, so it doesn't seem likely she's made some glaring error. Was it the fact she'd looked too happy when he said he'd treat her to ice cream? Was it because she had skipped down the sidewalk instead of walking slowly? _

_"You said something to me at the grocery store. Do you remember?" _

_Sarah looked down at her worn-out sneakers, then back up at her father. _

_"I said..." She hesitated. "I said 'I love...you'?" _

_The man snaps his finger and grins, full of approval. "Exactly!" Her father isn't an easy man to please so Sarah's confused by the unease that weighs on her shoulders. _

_"What's wrong with saying 'I love you'?" she murmurs. "Billy Thomas said it to me behind the jungle gym at school."_

_She's made another mistake. _

_Her father stands to his full height, distancing himself from her. "You never, _never_ tell anyone you love them, do you understand?" He points to her, to himself, to the air around them—nothing was exempt from this rule. _

_Sarah chews on her lip. It's not what the other dads told their daughters. _

"_But..." _

"_No buts," he dismisses. She's never seen him so serious before. "You know what happens when you say something like that to someone?" Before she could say anything, he was already at the answer. _

"_They own you for life. A person only says they love you if they want something from you. Do you want someone to have that power over you?" _

_He points to her chest and Sarah imagines some greedy monster trying to reach in to claw out her heart. It makes her afraid. _

"_Never, ever, do you hear me?" _

_Sarah nods and puts her hand over her chest, pressing against her ribs until she feels the steady heartbeat. She has only one and she needs it for herself. _

"_Didn't you tell Mom you loved her?" _

_Her mother's not a subject up for discussion but her father seems to overlook that today. "Unfortunately," he confesses with a grimace. "Listen, darlin', love is for suckers. Do you want to be a sucker?" _

_Sarah shook her head. Of course not. They preyed on those types. Billy Thomas was definitely a sucker. He's been giving her his pudding every day for two weeks straight._

_But she was his daughter. Surely..._

"_Do you love me?" she asks, holding her breath for the answer. And she realizes then what she wants most in the world; more than Rocky Road with sprinkles and fudge, more than new sneakers with red stripes, and more than all the toys in the department store. _

_Her father smirks at her. "Nice try, darlin'" he says, tugging one of her pigtails. "You're learning, but I'll never make that mistake again." _

_

* * *

_

.

_BTW, that scene at the end? Totally **Altonish**'s idea. =) _


	18. Monday B I

_A/N: "Monday" is here! You guys have been so very encouraging and I thought your efforts ought to be rewarded. _

_**For those shocked by Sarah's "sudden" alcoholism, I tried to be subtle about it. The most obvious hint is in Chpt 8 but besides that, there's the scotch on the plane, wine at Ellie's and champagne at the convention...so she hasn't exactly been sober for much of the weekend.  
_

_And thanks as always to **Altonish** for his tireless efforts to improve this story. If I had a giant cookie, I'd share it with you. Alas all I have are some TUMS. =(  
_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 18: **

Sarah comes to and for a second, she's convinced she's in the hospital. She feels like she ought to be anyway, her skull feels as if it's been split open by a hatchet.

Blearily, she squints to avoid the thin line of light bleeding through the curtains and sits up. The cool morning air assaults her skin and causes the surface to riddle with goosebumps. She's tempted to simply bury herself under the warm comforters again and sleep away the head trauma.

Then she realizes where she is, and the disjoint between her last conscious memory to this causes her to come to her senses.

"Oh my God..." she utters as she realizes she's in the master bedroom. Her hair is a mess and she's still wearing the gaudy earrings and dress from dinner last night.

Somewhere along the way, from the kitchen to the bedroom, she's lost her heels and a good chunk of her memory.

Sarah turns to the nightstand where she finds a full glass of water and bottle of Aspirin set aside.

"Thank you," she says to no one in particular and quickly takes three of the long, white pills all at once.

She's barely controlled the urge to gag and retch when there's a knock at the door.

Before she has time to get herself together, Chuck walks in looking sharp in a crisp new suit. Sarah is so mortified by her appearance and behaviour the previous night that all she wants to do is hide under the bed.

Unfortunately he's seen her so the most she can do is lie on her side and avoid his gaze.

"You're awake," he says. He walks to the foot of the bed but doesn't come any closer. "How are you feeling?"

Sarah manages a weak laugh. She only hoped she didn't look as awful as she felt.

"You should take better care of yourself you know," he says.

Sarah considers an apology but decides it's past the point. She nods in defeat and tries to hide the burning flush of shame that colors her cheeks. He was never supposed to see her this way; and she was never supposed to touch another bottle again.

"Thank you."

He seems genuinely surprised to hear her say the words. "For what?" he asks.

Sarah turns around and eyes him like a puppy with her tail between her legs. He was really going to make her say it wasn't he?

"I don't remember exactly what happened last night..." she says. "But I'm pretty sure I didn't put myself to bed."

He makes a sound and when she raises her eyes, she can hardly believe it. He's..._smiling? _

"What did you expect me to do—just leave you passed out on the kitchen floor?"

Sarah feels blood rushing to her head. She could picture it now and the image wasn't pleasant.

Chuck sighs. "I'm going to head out for the convention. I think you'd better sleep in."

Sarah was about to argue that she needed to keep up appearances but then she realized she had perpetuated more rumours by showing than skipping out.

"I'll be there after lunch."

Chuck nods. "Your phone's been ringing non-stop for the last hour. Maybe you should get back to them before they think you're out of commission."

He smirks again and Sarah has no idea what he finds so amusing. If she didn't have such a crippling headache she would have thrown something at him. Alas, the most she could manage was a half-hearted groan. Not even the threat of work was enough to motivate her to get up.

"Oh, and Sarah?" he calls as he begins to head for the door.

Sarah grunts.

The mirth in Chuck's voice drops and he grows serious. "Let's not do this again, okay?"

Sarah wasn't sure what he meant by 'this' but she couldn't agree more.

* * *

An hour later, a combination of guilt and sense of duty forces Sarah from the warmth and comfort of the bed. Stumbling slowly into the kitchen, she finds her purse where she'd thrown it haphazardly the other night and digs out her cell.

_Three missed calls. _

Her headache comes roaring back like a lion who's tail she's just tripped over. The threat of paralyzing pain is imminent—and so is the backlash from her Director.

Looking around the kitchen for a seat, she finds instead a plate of still-warm pancakes sitting alone in the center of the counter. She hasn't had any substance in her since yesterday at lunch and the sight of them sends her stomach growling.

Forgoing the call back to DC, she wolfs down the pancakes—the best she's had in years, and pops another few Aspirins.

Then and only then does she make the phone call.

It must be her lucky day or perhaps the new Director's OCD is worse than she thought because he still insists on going over the formalities. He asks how she is (just fine), what her initial impression is of the people at the convention (delightful) and where she's been all morning (out for a run). Three lies in less than three minutes; not bad for only ten in the morning.

Then he asks how things are with her 'soon-to-be-ex.'

Sarah pauses and she realizes that the man has a twisted sense of humor. Or perhaps a death wish.

"Pardon?"

"Your estranged husband, if you will," the Director restates. "Or do you prefer soon-to-be-ex?"

"He has a name and I'd prefer that you use it," she replies tersely. "Mr. Bartowski and I are fine."

The Director laughs and it makes Sarah so riled up she wants to grab the nearest object and throw it against the wall.

"That bad, huh?" he deduces.

"We've never been better," Sarah lies obstinately. Her pride was a little damaged but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed.

"We've looked into Christopher Hawkins..." Sarah listened to all the information with only mild interest. He's got a prior criminal record, piracy related offenses, account doctoring and money laundering.

All of them are small time though, nothing serious.

"And he's been clean for six years. Although our friends at the Internal Revenue Service would probably love to talk to him." the Director informed, almost a little disappointed.

Chuck was right. Last night had been a waste of her time.

"What are we looking for here, sir? The mission profile was vague."

The best way to avoid being wrong is to never give a straight answer. "It's not entirely clear what the nature of the threat is." the Director replies.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "What do you mean?"

She could hear the Director hesitate on the other end. "We received an anonymous tip a few weeks ago."

"What do you mean by anonymous? Don't you have ways of tracking these kinds of calls?"

There's no response; she has no choice but to take it at face value.

"You sent me to Los Angeles on a wild goose chase?" Sarah couldn't believe it but it explained everything. The vague instructions, the utter lack of concern from the Director—the fact that she's here _with_ Chuck.

"I've been in for fifteen years and you send me to the one place I've explicitly asked not to work and all for a vague tip?"

"Mind your tone, Agent."

Sarah refuses to back down though. "With all due respect, _Sir—" _

"I think it's time you re-evaluated your desire to continue with the agency."

Sarah grinds her teeth. "I have given my entire life for my country. What more do you want? I'm one of the best agents you have, why would you send me for a job that a first year trainee could do?"

"Given your record of late, this was the most sophisticated job I thought you could handle." The Director's tone was still as smooth as honey but it felt like swallowing a sea-urchin.

Sarah was speechless. The picture was finally coming into view. Sure she's made a few mistakes… "But, sir…"

"You shot your partner in the course of action—"

"He got in my way—"

"And you terminated a potentially valuable informant—"

"He was going to get away—"

"Christ, Sarah!" It was the first time she'd ever heard the calm-faced Director swear. "Listen to yourself!"

Sarah tried to rationalize her actions. Was it wrong that she felt no remorse? Was it wrong that given the chance, she'd do it all over again?

"Agent Walker, this is not a debate. I sent you to Los Angeles because I needed someone to do the mission and frankly, you need to deal with the emotional baggage you left behind there.

"Your current performance has made it clear; you no longer have what it takes for real field work. I think you should take some time while you're there to sort out what you really want from your future with the agency."

Then, after the series of emotional blows he's just dealt her, the Director gets back to business.

"While you were off playing house, an _analyst_ managed to track some suspicious banking activity of one of the conferences attendees. His name is Richard Kipling. He's a software analyst at Digital Jungle Technologies. He will be presenting today at one."

Sarah scribbled the man's name on a loose sheet of paper with a question mark beside it.

"See what you can find out from him."

Sarah scribbled an extra question mark beside Kipling's name.

"Sir, I still don't understand what I'm looking for here. Are they files? Is it software? Does it fit on a flash drive or the back of a van?"

"I suggest you figure that out, Agent Walker, that is after all, why we pay you."

Sarah gritted her teeth. "I understand."

"Good." A pause. "Does Mr. Bartowski have anything else to offer?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Whether it was the man's choice in words or the subject in general, it makes her grit her teeth.

"No, why would Chuck know anything?"

The Director grunts, "He's a person of interest, why do you think we selected you?"

Sarah chews on her perpetually chapped lips. "It was convenient?" she guesses, but it's not entirely convincing either.

The Director seemed deep in thought as his words became shorter. "Find out what he knows; use any means you have to."

Sarah clenches her jaw. She's seconds from snapping her phone in half. "He doesn't know anything."

"Maybe, but you'd better find out."

"He's just a civilian, leave him out of this." Her voice just barely cut the threshold between professionalism and desperation.

"Despite what you did to him, he still accepted our request to accommodate you." The man let the words and its meaning sink in for her before continuing. "Now whether he's just a loser, or he's got a guilty conscience... who knows? But the next time I call, I expect you to have investigated both possibilities thoroughly."

"Excuse me?" Sarah gives the Director a minuscule window of opportunity in which he can redeem himself, but of course, only the most unscrupulous souls (or lack thereof) climbed to the top of this food chain.

"Are you ordering me to sleep with him?"

"Come now, Agent Walker, the man is your husband. Certainly I don't have to order you to give him a close examination."

This time there is no hiding the tone of her voice. She didn't care if he was the president or the pope; she wanted to make one point abundantly clear.

"I will not put him through this. He's sacrificed more for this country than all of us put together—"

"Mrs. _Bartowski..._" the Director warns, taking care in addressing her the way he does. "Let's not let personal obligations get in the way of your objectivity."

He's asked nicely and he will not ask again. Sarah takes a deep breath and sinks into her seat, silently seething to herself.

"Mr. Bartowski's acquainted himself with these people for a long period of time. I'm sure he's a wealth of information. He probably doesn't even know what a valuable resource he truly is. And perhaps you are not asking the right questions."

And then to make sure she doesn't miss his drift, the Director adds: "Or perhaps, you are simply not being _persuasive_ enough."


	19. Monday B II

_A/N: Four posts in four days; I must be crazy and if you are still reading, you must be too =P  
_

_How's the pace now? Better?  
_

_**Altonish**, what are stacks and what happens when they blow? _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 19: **_  
_

Sarah checks the program taped to the pillars of the convention center before she walks through the doors. Kipling's presentation at one o'clock is entitled "Data Buffering: Don't Blow your Stack!" Sarah hears two men giggling about the title of the seminar as she follows them into the building. It sounds like ninety minutes of hell, but she's had to endure far worse for her job. It can't be that much worse than being tortured in an Albanian prison.

She considers removing her sunglasses once inside but there's always the risk people will notice just how bloodshot her eyes are. There's already a pile of ridiculous rumours floating circling her, would a few more at this point really matter?

Just as she's about to enter the designated auditorium, she hears her name.

"Sarah Bartowski, what _are_ you doing?" Unfortunately, the voice is not from the one person she's hoped to hear from.

Sarah turns around and reluctantly plasters on a smile. "Mrs. Harding, how lovely to see you again."

The older woman struts over on some very impressive stilettos. For today's event she's wrapped herself tightly up in what appears to be a gold sheet—or _lamé _as she's sure Harding would want distinguished.

"Oh you poor thing, thank God I found you in time! The bar is the other way." Before Sarah has the chance to correct her, Harding has her skeletal-fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Oh you will not believe the day I've had; I was supposed to get a manicure at eleven and they made me wait _five_ minutes to set things up!"

"Oh no!" Sarah exclaims even though any number of events from the previous evening would have sufficed to put her woes to shame.

_I had to seduce a slime-ball to please my boss. _

_I drank until I passed out on the kitchen floor. _

_I've had enough Aspirin to bleed out of my eyeballs. _

Just before Sarah's about to fabricate an excuse to sit out of the _First Wives Club_, opportunity strikes—in the very worst of ways.

"Hey, Sarah!" Hawkins leaves his close-knit circle of peers and stops the two of them before they can make their way out the door. "I didn't think you'd be coming today."

Sarah smiles again, this time to the point where her cheeks begin to ache. "Chris...good to see you again..."

He leans forward and Sarah feels as if she has no choice but to accept the quick peck on the cheek.

From the corner of her eye, she catches Harriet Harding perform a quick appraisal of the man with just a subtle smile and nod.

"Mrs. Harding, always nice to see you," Hawkins offers, sans cheek-kiss.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Hawkins." The older woman pulls Sarah closer, subtly whispering into her ear. "I see now why you didn't want to join us for drinks."

Blood rushes to her head as Sarah attempts to explain herself but Mrs. Harding stops her.

"I must be going; I have an appointment for a massage at one." She winks in Sarah's direction. "Enjoy the _presentation_."

Hawkins wrinkles his brows, not fully catching on, and Sarah only wishes she can dissolve into a puddle and melt away.

Left unsupervised, the man's smile twists into something of a more devious nature.

"Listen...about last night—"

_Oh God._ Sarah thought the worst was over when she'd turned down his offer for a drink at his place.

"Oh Chris..." _How do I say this nicely? _

Or perhaps that wasn't her problem—perhaps the problem was that she didn't want to tell him off nicely.

He squeezed her shoulder, his hand lingering far longer than she would have liked. "Look, I talked to Chuck and assured him that nothing happened last night."

"But nothing happened—"

"Exactly, so he has nothing to worry about." And yet, from the telling arch of his brows, it seemed her husband would have every reason to worry.

"Exactly. And Mr. Hawkins—"

"Chris," he reminds, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"_Chris_," she intonates, swatting his hand away. It was something Chuck, and only Chuck, was ever allowed to do, and it would remain that way. "I'm not sure what you thought last night was about, but it was _just_ dinner. I wanted to get to know some of the people Chuck works with."

He smiled and winked as if this were all some sort of code. "Of course. _Dinner._"

Sarah could barely contain her disgust. If the hangover hadn't made her throw up everything, this conversation would have sufficed.

"So are you interested in _dinner_ again tonight?"

"Look, Hawkins, I won't be _hungry_." She didn't know what more she needed to do to spell it out for him.

"Neither will I, darlin'—"

Sarah's taken all she can but the man crosses a line by using the old endearment. Sarah removes her sunglasses, not caring if she looked like hell. "Listen, Hawkins, I told you once and I'm not going to repeat myself. _Back off._"

The man laughs, much amused, until she raises her hand to show that she's palming a _very, very_ sharp knife.

Suddenly his laughter dies off in a strangled gasp. "What the hell?"

"I told you, I'm not going to repeat myself. Apparently you're a slow learner."

When he doesn't seem completely convinced, she takes a step forward, giving him the look she reserves for those she's about to end.

"Get the hell away from me!" he screams, tripping over his own feet and inadvertently crashing into several of his colleagues. "Crazy bitch," he curses, loud enough for everyone to hear. "No wonder Bartowski doesn't let you out of the house."

Sarah's accomplished her primary goal, but at what cost? All eyes are suddenly on her and no matter how normal she behaves for the duration of the convention, she'll still be known as that 'crazy bitch'.

_Oh joy._ Suddenly she feels parched and ready to join the insufferable wives at the bar next door. Only the sandpaper on her tongue reminds her how well that worked out last night.

She sighs.

Trying to ignore the questioning eyes all around her, she searches for an inconspicuous seat in the auditorium. She spies a good spot and heads in that direction only to realize that the lone man sitting there is Chuck.

He's sitting down by the front, his head buried in a presentation brochure. Sarah briefly contemplates sitting elsewhere, but she can only imagine the damage that would do to her already fractured reputation in the software community. She has no choice.

Slipping her sunglasses back on, she walks sheepishly down the long carpet.

"Chuck!"

Chuck appears to hear her as he raises his head but instead of looking at her, he looks back down at the program.

Dejected, Sarah walks slowly over to him and takes the unoccupied seat to his right.

"So, you know Kipling?" she asks, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

Chuck only grunts.

"Is his company's software something you're interested in?"

"Maybe."

Sarah takes a deep breath. This conversation was getting to be about as much fun as watching grass grow.

"Do you think we'll get to a chance to speak to him later?"

Sarah realizes she's revealed too much when Chuck folds the program and tucks it under his seat.

"You'll have a hard time seeing things if you keep wearing those."

She turns her head to observe him but all she gets is a view of his profile.

"What do you suggest for light sensitivity then?" she asks. She's already exceeded the daily recommended dose for Aspirin and she still has a throbbing head.

Chuck shrugs. "Close your eyes and give them to me?"

The first part makes sense but the latter? Sarah frowns and removes her glasses, her brows furrowing as she examines the man sitting beside her with greater care. It's hard though, her eyes object to the harsh light and she squints to avoid inflicting any more undue harm to herself.

She extends the glasses and Chuck reaches for them.

"Look at me," she commands, and refuses to let go unless he complies.

He sighs and with great reluctance, turns his head. He looks at her, meets her gaze, and continues to even after she gasps in shock.

Sarah's eyes go wide, ignoring the painful inrush of light. "Chuck!" she hisses. Suddenly her hangover seems exceedingly unimportant.

"You don't look so great yourself," he remarks, and for the first time, gifts her with a disarming smile. He takes the glasses from her and puts them on.

"What the hell happened!" she demands. She grabs his arm before he can think of turning away.

"_Shhh_!" Chuck looks at her but it's different now that he has the sunglasses on. It's like he has a second wall put up against her.

"I fell."

"People who fall don't end up with a black eye," Sarah whispers angrily. The anger is misdirected though; it's all her fault. She was supposed to be here to protect him and instead she's spent the morning on the bathroom floor.

"Well sometimes people do," he insists.

Sarah frowns. _What the hell would computer nerds have to fight over? _

"Sarah?"

Sarah doesn't respond. She's scanning the crowd, hoping to find someone who looks as rough as Chuck. As soon as she finds them, she has every intention of making them look ten times worse.

"Hey, Sarah, let it go." He grabs her arm and pulls her down just as she's about to get up. "It was an accident."

"Bullshit," she mutters back. "I recognize a fist print on a face when I see one. "Who was it? Was it Hawkins?"

"Sarah," he repeats. "Let. It. Go."

"It was, wasn't it?" Her fists clench tight together, just begging for retribution. "I warned him," Sarah growls. She moves to stand but Chuck pulls her back down.

"Just leave it, okay? It was nothing; it was my fault," Chuck mutters. "Why do you care so much anyway?"

_You've hurt me worse. _It's what Chuck thinks but doesn't say; that Sarah's lost the right to get riled up after what she's put him through but her reflexes fail to make the distinction. Every fibre of her being says someone needs to pay for this—with interest.

"Chuck, it's not okay…"

A man Sarah doesn't recognize sits down in the seat in front of them making even whispered conversation impossible to have without being overheard. She's attracted far too much attention already.

Chuck slouches in his seat and stares into his lap, shutting down completely.

She stares at him. For the life of her she can't figure out why he won't tell her. Did this kind of thing happen often? Were there underground rivalries she didn't know about in the software business? Was Chuck being influenced by some sort of bully?

"I just—"

Chuck cuts her off. "Don't. Please don't make a scene."

The man in the seat up front turns around and looks at them. Sarah attempts to kill him with a glare and he immediately gets the hint and turns swiftly back around. After a second or two of indecision (or perhaps he felt Sarah's penetrating gaze threaten to impale him from behind) the man moves several seats to his left so he's no longer directly in front of her.

Sarah sighs. The lights dim and she feels she has no choice but to comply.

"This conversation is not over," she whispers as the introductions begin.

* * *

_Sarah runs down the stairs with bag in hand. She checks the time on her watch—she's already running late and she has no one to blame for it but herself. _

Damn it. _This wasn't going to look good on her file. _

_Even though she's nowhere near enemy territory, even though there are no guns pointed or bombs threatening to blow, her heart still races. She holds her breath as she steps down onto the landing and stealthily manoeuvres down the hall. _

_So far so good. _

_She gets to the door and gently turns the lock. It clicks ever so softly and the slightest breeze causes the door to shake gently against the threshold. She turns the knob and the door swings open without a sound; the motion as smooth as a knife cutting through air. _

_And just as she's about to slip outside, she hears his voice. _

"_Are we going to talk?" _

_The tension is a piece of glass that crashes on top of her head. Sarah drops the bag, closes the door, and stares straight ahead at him. "I'm late, Chuck, I need to go."_

_He'd been waiting for her, like a predator crouched in the tall grass waiting to pounce on its prey. "Yeah, well I've been trying to get your attention, but now seems like the only time you don't ignore me."_

_Didn't she know there's no way to delay the inevitable? _

"_I think we've done enough talking." _

_She was so tired of talking. It's all they did. And always in that infuriatingly civil tone; neither of them yells, no one gets mad. Everything just simmers below the surface but deep down, Sarah just wants to scream and put her fist through the wall. _

"_You still haven't given me an answer." Chuck sticks his hands into his pant pockets and leans against the wall but he's far from at ease. His eyes waver to hold her gaze, like he wants to know the answer but is afraid to see it all the same. _

When will it be enough?

_Sarah sighs. She glances down at her watch—time has never been on her side. _

"_You are enough," she says. "I'm not asking for anything more. Why can't you be satisfied with that?" _

_Now the tables were turned back on him. After all, wasn't he the one making all the demands? _

_Chuck swallows nervously. He looks as if he's about to close the distance between them then thinks better of it and leans back against the safety of the wall. _

"_Tell me you love me." _

_Sarah balks. "What?" _

"_Say it." It's not a command but a plea. _

_How desperate does a man have to be if he has to beg his wife for something so simple? _

_But it's not simple. Sarah bites her lips. She's an absolute failure at this and she knows it. _

_What he's really asking for is normal and she'll never be that. _

"_Chuck you know how I feel about you. We can talk when I get back. I'm late," she says, taking another look at her watch. _

_She's delayed the inevitable blow-out for another few hours, a few days at most and she can see that Chuck's reaching his endpoint. There's only so much a person can endure. The seams of their relationship are stretched to the limits and Sarah knows what will happen next. The first thread will unravel, and all the rest will follow. _

_Chuck takes a step forward and everything from the glaring dark look in his eyes to the stiff, clenched jaw and balled up fists indicates his intention to tell her off. She deserves it. _

_He's practically foaming at the mouth but he doesn't say anything. Even after everything, he's still willing to compromise, to accept and wait for the day she'll realize she wants the same things he does. _

"_I have to go," she whispers, in a voice so quiet she doesn't think he can hear. She's horrified at what's become of them. She's gone meek and timid and she's driven Chuck to become someone so opposite of his true nature. _

_She's poison. _

_Sarah hears him sigh; the ultimate sound of defeat. He backs down without a fight, and returns to the safety of the wall. _

_Sarah knows all too well his reasons. _

_Neither of them wants their last conversation to be an angry one. _

"_Keep safe." He looks down at the hardwood floor and the distance that separates them. Once again she's at the door and he's the one left waiting. This wasn't anything new, but the fact it never got any easier troubles her. _

_And someday, perhaps not today, not even tomorrow, but someday—she wasn't going to come back. _

_Sarah steps forward and kisses him on the cheek. It's a small peace offering, but she does want peace. _

"_I love you." He says it without looking at her and immediately turns away, knowing it would only be a one-way exchange. Unfortunately the euphoria those words once caused her has all but disappeared. In its place is a sick, twisted feeling in the pit of her gut, the kind of feeling that tells her she needs to get out of here. _

_Despite everything, all her flaws, her broken nature, her insecurities—he still manages to love her_

_Sarah's not a sucker though; she's knows it's not going to be enough to get them through this. _

_Sarah picks up her bag, takes one last look at his retreating shadow, then walks out the door. The dread hangs over her even as she climbs into the awaiting van. _

_This conversation was far from over._

* * *


	20. Monday B III

_A/N: I've been advised again posting on Friday night but unlike my trusty adviser **Altonish** I'm spending my Friday night indoors. Yay? _

* * *

**Chapter 20: **

Sarah knows she ought to have paid more attention during Kipling's presentation but the topic was dreadfully dull and putting up with the man's excuse for humour and the painful silence that ensued was truly cringe-worthy. Nobody wants to hear sexual innuendo in a presentation from a short greasy bald man with pop bottle glasses—and those were just the parts Sarah understood.

The only highlight of the presentation was the rare occasion when Chuck would try to suppress a laugh. Thankfully, it wasn't the jokes he was laughing at. At least then she knew she wasn't the only one suffering in the auditorium.

When the presentation ends, she sees an opportunity to approach Kipling...and turns the other way. Instead she grabs Chuck and drags him out before people begin to question why he's got sunglasses on in a dark room.

Pushing the damn environmentally-conscious car as fast as it'll go, she gets them home just barely in one piece.

Ignoring Chuck's protests that they should return to the convention, Sarah walks into the kitchen and grabs a package of peas from the freezer. She cringes at the packaging date. It's been four years since these peas last saw sunlight. Chuck really is never here.

She hands it to him, but when he doesn't immediately use it, she takes it from him and presses it to his face.

Chuck winces and removes the sunglasses, giving her a full view of his face. It looked worse than she'd initially thought.

On top of a nasty-looking black eye, one side of his face was markedly more swollen than the other.

"Mind telling me what really happened?"

She walks over to the kitchen counter and hands him the vial of Aspirin he'd set aside for her. He looked like he could use it more than she did.

"Nothing..." he insists and drags himself into the living room.

"Chuck!" she exclaims, putting her hands on her hips. Had he forgotten the depths of her persistence?

"I had a disagreement," he confessed, taking a seat on the couch. Pressing the frozen peas against his face until it eclipsed nearly half the area, Sarah had no choice but to move to the other side of the room just to be able to see him properly.

"With who?"

He wouldn't say until she suggested making his face look symmetrical once more.

"With Hawkins," he growled, turning away.

Sarah's trigger finger twitched at the name. "Hawkins?"

"And before you get any ideas, it wasn't about you," he quickly adds. The reminder makes Sarah blush; even if she had jumped to that conclusion, she wasn't going to admit it now.

And even if it wasn't about her, that didn't mean she was any less tempted from beating that man to a pulp. He could humiliate her all he wanted but Chuck was off limits.

"What was it about then?"

Chuck's reluctant to speak but he sees as clearly as Sarah that there's no hope of an escape from the small condo.

"My company did really well for itself after the release of the first game. It attracted the attention of several buyers. I eventually accepted a merger acquisition from one of them."

Sarah wrinkles her brows. "That's nice, Chuck, but what does that have to do with Hawkins?"

He removes the makeshift ice pack from his face and looks at her, waiting for her to catch on.

"I have a presentation on Friday regarding a major software release. It's the latest game—Tropic of Cancer. It'll be released sometime next week."

"Chuck, I still don't—"

"The game is produced by Star-Hawk EA. Nerd-E Games has become a subsidiary under them but I own twenty-three percent of the company."

Sarah blanches at the association. Had the Director known? Was this what he meant when he said she wasn't being 'persuasive' enough?

"Chuck, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Chuck shrugs. "Would it really have mattered?"

"You could have told me you were having problem with your partner."

He looks at her as if to ask: _Would you have cared? _

He presses the frozen peas back against his swollen cheek. "I don't actually have a lot of time to write games anymore; I do a lot of PR for the company and they're relying on Tropic of Cancer to be their next biggest hit."

"And you and Hawkins had an argument because..."

Chuck seemed to struggle to come up with an answer. "We don't see eye to eye on a lot of things." For some reason Sarah doesn't feel it's the complete answer. It's the only answer she's going to get though, because Chuck's settles down on the couch with his back to her.

"Like the title?" she asks, hoping to coax a smile from him.

Chuck laughs and then groans in pain. "I didn't come up with the name," he assures, turning back to face her.

Sarah smiles. "Good, because it sounds terrible."

It's rare for them to be able to share a moment like this and the precious nature of such an opportunity isn't lost on Sarah. It's precisely why it takes her a full two minutes before she can bear to break the peaceful silence.

"Chuck." With just one word, she's changed the tone of their conversation. His smile falls. "I know I have my orders but I'm here to protect you too." She stares into his soulful brown eyes, wishing hers could be as clear and honest. "You can tell me things, you know."

Chuck sits up and puts aside the ice-pack. "Sarah," he warns, clearing his throat. He takes on the defensive stance; shoulders stiff, eyes wary, and lips set in a grim line.

Sarah wonders if she's just wasted the only opportunity she had of reconciling with him.

"I don't need my wife to take names and start beating on everyone who threatens me. This is business. I'm a grown man, I can handle it."

Sarah misses everything he's said. She's only caught onto one thing and one thing only.

_My wife._ He still thinks of her as his.

"Sarah." Now it was his turn search into her eyes, but she feared the task wasn't as simple. "Are you going to tell me why you're really here?"

Sarah swallows slowly. She wants to, it would make everything so much easier if she did, but then she'd have to go back and start at the beginning.

How she'd used up every vacation day she had in bed or in a hospital for the first few months after she'd left him. How could she recount how it felt to be an absolute failure? To sink to such a harrowing low she thought it might truly be the end of her?

Of course she's recovered. She wouldn't be here today if she hadn't.

But she knows she's not the same; everyone knew that. It would be unfair for them to expect anything more from someone who was essentially only half the person they'd once been.

They didn't expect those without a heart to go on living; the least they could do was make some concessions for her.

And ultimately their conversation would reveal that in the last year she's had more complaints filed against her than in the previous ten summed and that she's here for all intents and purposes on probation.

She's a mess and she knows it. And the last thing she wants is for Chuck to know it too.

"You left that life..." she finally says. _And then you left him. _

No matter how badly she wants to tell the truth, she just can't bear to.

Sometimes the truth wasn't worth telling.

Chuck stares back at her, willing her to reconsider, but it was hopeless. Sarah's already made up her mind.

He seems to realize this because he sighs, a look of justly deserved disappointment on his face.

"Right. Okay," he says and lies back on the couch, his back to her.

"Chuck..." Sarah tugs on his shoulder and forces him to look back at her. "No matter what my mission is, my number one priority is you. This—" She points to his face. "—is never going to happen again."

He stares at her for a long time, but he doesn't argue with her.

* * *

_ It's a cool early morning and Sarah shivers in the back of the van. Her breath makes small circles of fog against the window as she leans against the glass for a better view. _

_There's not a soul in sight on the quiet cul-de-sac. Everyone is asleep in their warm comfy beds snuggled up next to their loved ones, and she's out here on her own, freezing without a sweater. Some people prayed for a few more minutes in bed; Sarah just prayed Chuck was asleep so she wouldn't have to face him. _

_Even the squirrels and the robins are tucked away in the trees, sleeping through the early dawn. Everything is calm and still, and a complete one-eighty to the inner turmoil she felt inside. _

_The van stops a block from her house and she steps out, trying her best to close the door quietly. Despite all her best efforts, the door slams against the siding and the driver steps on the gas with a heavy foot, making the van squeal as it speeds off into the distance. _

_Shrill birdsong erupts and the trees rustle with nervous activity. The reverie is forever gone and Sarah feels as if she's committed a crime on humanity for disturbing the peace. _

_Everything she comes in contact with is poisoned by her touch. _

_It's no wonder then she's somehow managed to do nothing but fight with a man unanimously considered to be the kindest, most selfless person alive. _

_Sarah returns home on a Sunday, which is appropriate—was Sunday not the day of rest? _

_She's had barely more than three hours of sleep in the last two days but her heart's hammering against her chest like a fist threatening to punch through the wall when she walks through the door. _

_The house is deathly still. Sarah closes the door quietly behind her and leans against it, her body giving way to a combination of exhaustion and relief. _

_It's five AM and Chuck's never been one for mornings. The inevitable has been delayed for a few more hours at least. _

_She leaves her bag at the door and walks stealthily to the kitchen. _

_It's as if time has stood still in her absence; has ceased to continue, just waiting for her return. It's the same leftovers from the weekday in the fridge, exactly where she left them, and the same pile of unpaid bills sitting on the kitchen counter. The rag she'd used to wipe the countertop is still where she'd tossed it in her haste and the same cookie crumbs she'd noticed the day she left are still waiting for her on the dining room table. _

_Sarah drinks a tall glass of water from the tap to calm herself (or was it at this point merely an excuse?) before venturing upstairs to the bedroom. _

_The door's been left wide open and to her great surprise, Chuck is sitting up in bed with a crossword. He looks up without an impassive expression and goes back to the puzzle. _

_The waves of nausea rise again only this time they threaten to topple her completely and drown her in a deep ocean of guilt. She walks up to the foot of the bed and holds onto the wooden frame, trying to steady herself. _

_And as hard as it was for her to see the truth; she wasn't blind. _

_This wasn't working. _

"_You're back," he finally says. _

"_I am." _

_Chuck nods slowly. She wants to ask him why the hell he's doing a crossword at five in the morning but in her heart of hearts she knew the answer already. She only wished she didn't. _

_After another long pause, he grabs the comforter and lifts up a corner. He doesn't say a word but he doesn't need to. Sarah strips off her outer clothes and dives in, revelling in the comfort of a warm bed. They stay strictly on their own sides, but just his presence is enough. _

_She doesn't deserve this kind of generosity, especially not when she's turned her back on it so many times before. _

_Her resolve weakens for a split second when she turns and gazes at her husband's profile, but she doesn't have a strict regimental conscience for nothing. She's already gone through all the scenarios; the only other alternatives are to quit her job and leave behind everything she's ever worked for and known or leave Chuck. Neither of the two are viable options so this is the only solution; do whatever it takes to stay by his side and do whatever it takes to keep her bosses happy. _

_Sophie never said the pursuit of happiness would be easy. _

_She watches him carefully for any sign of a tell, but Chuck's so completely engrossed in his crossword it's as if he doesn't even notice her presence beside him. _

_Sure his hair is a little more mussed than usual and his stubble has grown to be borderline unruly, but it was Sunday after all. _

_And then Sarah realizes she's missed so many Sundays she's forgotten if his untidiness and insomnia are all part of a weekend ritual or something out of the ordinary. _

Where did you learn to hide your emotions so well?_ she wants to ask after struggling for five whole minutes to read him. _

_His silence seems to say it all. _I learned from the best. I learned from you.

"_Chuck..." she whispers. She still remembers their argument just before she left. It's weighed on her this whole trip; hasn't even left her thoughts for a minute. Even when she sleeps, she can't escape his simple request. _

Tell me you love me.

"_I..." It should be so easy. It's only three words; it could be over in less than a second._

_Her hesitation finally draws his attention. Chuck drops the crossword and turns his head to face her. He seems to sense what's coming, but he refuses to let his anticipation show. Sarah knows him too well though; she's already caught the glimmer of hope rising in those warm dark orbs. _

"_I...I care about you," she says. "More than anyone." It's the most she's willing to say; the closest thing to the truth._

_So why then did it sound so cheap and trivial? _

_Chuck's eyes dim only the slightest but it's not lost on Sarah. She notices everything about him from the way his right eye twitches when he tells a lie to the way his lips curl into a tell-tale grin even before he cracks a joke. _

"_I know," he whispers back. She refuses to believe it's enough for him, but he doesn't hold any sign of resentment against her. He loves her all the same, even when he knows she'll never be _that _girl. _

"_I'm so tired of fighting." Sarah curls up against herself, exhausted and out of options. She's never run from a good fight but there was nothing exhilarating about a battle where every outcome is merely another failure. _

_Chuck looks saddened by their grim predicament. "I am too." _

"_You are enough," she says, in response to a question he's probably long forgotten. _

_Unlike her previous statements, he doesn't have a response for her. He doesn't press her for more, doesn't accuse her of lying; nothing. _

_They've both grown tired of the fighting. _

_Eventually, Chuck turns away and goes back to his crossword. Sarah lies silently on her side of the bed and their Sunday morning seems to entail little else. _

_Finally she reaches out hesitantly and touches his arm. The connection is electric; and the tension in the air becomes so thick she can nearly hear it crackle with the imminent boom of thunder and lightning. _

_Chuck looks up, surprised, but he doesn't say anything. Her fingers wrap around his arm and she slides over, crossing the invisible line between his and hers. _

_Chuck blinks slowly, his eyes widening with each second they remained in contact with one another's bodies, but he's rendered mute._

_Has it really been so long? _

_Sarah doesn't say anything, she hopes the pleading look in her eyes is enough. Chuck seems to understand as he raises his arm to accommodate her, allowing her to rest against his torso. _

_Sarah finally starts to feel the chill of several nights in too little clothing begin to break against Chuck's warmth. However powerful the forces of the outside world may be, they're no match for Chuck. Sarah settles with her ear pressed against his chest, lulled by the security of his steady heartbeat. _

_Chuck goes back to his crossword, and they behave as if all this were merely a routine—the way Sunday mornings ought to be. _

_"Sarah?" Chuck whispers, pulling the comforter over her shoulders and tucking her in against him. _

_"Hmm?" she murmurs as she drifts in and out of consciousness. _

_"Eight letters. Valentine's Day Phrase." _

_Sarah's been staving off sleep to stay with Chuck but now she's not so sure. Return to consciousness and face the truth or simply drift away? _

_Sarah surrenders to the exhaustion and tightens her grip around Chuck before falling into the sweet oblivion of sleep. _


	21. Monday B IV

_A/N: Ookayy....**Altonish** i learned my lesson about posting on Friday. =( _

_Please don't prove me wrong about Sunday. _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 21:**

They spend the afternoon together but they barely say more than a few words to one another. He lies on the couch and she sits on the opposite side, watching and waiting. It's as if at any moment someone would burst through the door and threaten to harm him again.

She's already missed her chance though; this was like holding out her hands long after the baby's already been thrown with the bathwater.

Chuck checks the messages on his phone and sighs.

"You're not going to let me go back tonight, are you?" It's not even posed as a question; his voice remains flat and indifferent.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?" It's not a question either when she responds. She knows Chuck's expected to network in the evenings at these conventions; vendors, advertisers, distributors...and if that were what he truly wanted, she wouldn't hold him back.

But he doesn't even put up a fight. It's like he's using her as an excuse not to go.

_And you aren't?_

Sarah sighs as she recalls her earlier conversation with the Director. She needs to get back at the convention every bit as much as he does but she doesn't want to either. When she's here alone with Chuck, away from the distractions, away from reality, it's as if she can have it all again. For a few brief seconds, she doesn't have any responsibilities and neither does he; they're just two people together because they want to be.

_

The fridge is down to bare bones and neither of them feels like putting in the effort to go out for dinner—especially not when one of them has a black-eye and the other's still staving off a prodigious migraine.

When they look at one another, it's almost like they share the same mind.

"Pancakes?" they ask in unison.

Chuck smiles. "I'll make the batter..."

"...and I'll make sure you don't mess it up," she finishes. She hasn't said the phrase in so long and yet it rolls right off her tongue, as if she's said it every Sunday for the last five years.

Sarah hides the wave of sadness that hits her as she retrieves the morning's newspaper from the recycling bin. Together they eat a quiet dinner over the kitchen island with the daily crossword between them.

She handles the 'across' and he tackles the 'down' and they meet between 'time to kill' and 'classical conclusion', their pencils crossing paths as they fill in their respective blanks.

Sarah forgets herself and leans forward absent-mindedly. Only when Chuck doesn't follow through does she realize her mistake. The kiss isn't coming.

_Well of course not._ You don't torture someone for five years and then expect them to kiss you over the crossword. It used to be a thing they did when they crossed paths and now it was just a thing of the past.

Chuck hasn't forgotten though. He drops his pencil and looks at her, the question clear in his eyes.

It had certainly felt like a moment out of their old lives. There were a million emotions swirling in those deep brown orbs, everything from lust to bitter hatred.

"Sorry," Sarah finally offers. Chuck doesn't look entirely sure of himself either but to his credit, he tries to shake it off. He picks up his pencil again and leans back over the crossword.

Sarah forgets the puzzle—the one on the table—and stares enamoured across at the one sitting opposite her. Five years and he still treats her with respect and care, even after she's come traipsing back into his life at a moment's notice.

He's absolutely remarkable and sitting here today, she can't seem to believe she couldn't walk away from a crappy government job for the chance to be with him.

He's the only person in this world who's ever really cared about _her; _Sarah, the girl and not the person she's spent years personifying.

Sarah tries to quell the voices in her head—_this is a mistake. You're on a mission. _

But he's her husband. And he still cares for her.

_The director will fire you. You're supposed to be at the conference. _

Maybe he's just too nice to say anything. Chuck's always been better with words over actions.

_Just KISS HIM! _

Sarah listens to the last voice, the one that screams the loudest and before Chuck can pull away, she tips his head towards her and presses her torn and ragged lips against his.

It's five years of separation and distance down the drain.

She kisses him like the famished to a bread crumb; she's starved herself for as long as she can and now she wants it, wants what ought to be hers.

Five years of denial all switch gears at once. She wants this. She wants him.

Sarah closes her eyes as Chuck raises his hand to stroke the side of her cheek.

If this is a mistake, then let it be.

She'll deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

_Let's pretend there won't be a tomorrow,_ she implores with her eyes._ All we have are these hours and that's it. _

She clings to him, keeping one hand full of his shirt, pulling him right up against her so that she can feel the heat of his body burn against hers.

Chuck is hesitant at first, but there isn't much resistance. She can sense his defenses breaking down and she pushes him onward.

He wraps his arms around her and lifts her and she instinctively ensnares one long leg around his waist. His hands feel like a fire that's burning across her skin, she feels herself fall apart under his touch as he rediscovers the terrain he once knew so well.

It's a combination of longing and the promise of what she's denied herself for so long, but when he finally kisses her, it's as if every synapse in her brain has fired simultaneously. She's overtaken by a frightening burst of euphoria, and then the harrowing threat of a shattering low when he pulls away.

Just a second more, a touch longer, and she'll lose it.

He presses her up against the wall and there's nothing gentle about the way he holds her. There's a deep hunger and even deeper pain that's joined them together.

Sarah closes her eyes so the tears won't spill.

_Don't speak. Don't think. _

_Just hold me and promise never to let go. _

She moans his name, softly in his ear, and just as when she thinks he's as far gone as she is, he pulls away.

It's as if she's underwater and someone's just cut off her air supply.

Chuck gasps, out of breath, a horrified look on his face.

Sarah slinks against the wall, wondering what the hell happened.

"Chuck?" she asks, full of concern. The man clutches his chest, looking as if he were seconds from having a heart attack. "Chuck, what's the matter?"

"Don't!" he warns, when he finally manages to speak again. "Don't come any closer."

Sarah feels the cold hand of reality slink from the dark recesses of her mind and take hold of her.

She had been so foolish and now she finally sees. There's a fundamental difference between them; he's not Humpty Dumpty. He can't do this to himself over and over again. He's not self-destructive. He won't ignore tomorrow just to have today. He's _normal_.

"There's something I've been meaning to give you," he finally says, refusing to meet her eyes. When he has regained his composure, he disappears from the kitchen.

Her feet can barely function under the crushing disappointment and humiliation, but Sarah feels like she has no choice but to follow him.

_

Chuck enters the office, extracts a key and opens a drawer in the desk. He pulls out a sheaf of papers and hands them to her. Sarah takes the sheets from him, letting them fall to the side without so much as a glance.

"What is this?"

He eyes her uneasily and points to the papers. It was all self-explanatory, if she only allowed herself to look at them. But she won't. She wants the answer from him.

"You haven't signed them."

Sarah wrinkles her brows.

"You haven't signed them," he repeats. "I wanted to tell you...but I kept thinking maybe you didn't mean..."

Sarah's heart goes from sixty to well over two hundred. She raises the sheets to eye-level and notices the yellow-tag stuck over the blank line next to Chuck's signature.

"I mean, it's a stupid thought," Chuck explained. "But you never wrote back to any of my letters; I didn't know how to contact you. And I thought..." He threw his hands up in the air. "Well, it doesn't really matter what I thought.

"I get it, Sarah, I finally get it." Chuck twisted the band around his finger uneasily. "And I think I'm finally ready."

This was it. Not that morning five years ago but here. Now.

Sarah braced herself but she felt her entire frame tremble with the realization. All this time, she thought he was the one holding back.

But it had been her. She'd been the reason he was alone, the reason he'd never moved on. The reason his life was still on hold.

"I drew up a new one and put it behind the original. So...whenever you get the time..." She could have it signed in a second, but he's giving her another reason to stall.

"Got it," she says, her voice unnecessarily forceful. Her emotions are as brittle as glass; just one nick and she'll shatter.

Chuck takes a step back. He can see what he's done, but it was inevitable, was it not? This was the road she'd driven them down. It was her choice, never his.

"Sarah..."

"I said I got it," Sarah repeats, holding up the papers. She takes a step back before he can think of comforting her.

She needed to prepare herself for the end. She'd thrown the ball into his court but he's tossed it right back. And now she has to wake from this dream and face reality.

_You knew it was going to end. You've always known._

And yet, knowing made it no less painful.

* * *

.

_aaaaand that's Monday. If you're not satisfied, you'll have to wait until "Tuesday" for another heart to heart. Or...there's always BP. _


	22. Tuesday B I

_A/N: Welcome to Tuesday! And for those of you who complain that the story isn't moving fast enough...trust me, Tuesday is going to be BIG! _

_As always, **Altonish **came up with some really great lines here. You guys don't even realize his influence behind the scenes. =)_

_I have to run now but please enjoy!  
_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 22: **

It's day three of the convention and Sarah feels worse than the morning before. Ironic—considering she's completely sober this time around.

She hasn't slept a wink all night though it's not from lack of trying. She's tempted to simply drown her sorrows but she knows all too well where that ended her the last time.

Besides, there's no chance she'll allow herself to be caught unawares again. Just the sight of Chuck's face is enough to remind her of just how big of a screw up she truly is.

He needs her protection, and she'll be damned if she lets him down again.

There would be plenty of time for everything else when this is all over. And to make sure she doesn't forget that time is no longer on her side, the divorce papers are still sitting unsigned on her nightstand.

She's embarrassed herself with her behaviour and frivolity.

At least one of them has the ability to see common sense.

_It won't happen again_, she vows. She didn't cause herself all that pain and suffering for nothing.

The end will justify the means.

_

Fueled by a volatile combination of caffeine, adrenaline and the resolve to put last night's debacle behind her, she makes an extra effort to do her hair and make-up—if not for her husband, then for Hawkins and Kipling and whoever else cared to notice her.

When she meets Chuck at the front door at the pre-agreed upon time of eight in the morning, she has to do a double take.

"Morning," she murmurs quietly, trying not to scrutinize his features as she does the very thing. He's switched to a new suit and tie and even though he's neatly put together, he's an utter mess.

The swelling has lessened but the bruise has taken a turn for the worse. The bloodshot eyes and the bags under them only made matters worse, and gave him a generalized ill complexion.

He looks so tired he doesn't even have the strength to fake a smile.

Sarah's overcome with a desire to comfort him, to kiss him and promise that everything will be okay. But the memory of the night before still haunts her and she hasn't quite had enough time to sit in the corner to lick her wounded pride.

"Morning," he mumbles back, appraising her change in attire. There is only the audible sound he makes when he swallows; other than that he says nothing—but still his eyes linger.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks. It's more a formality than anything else.

He nods, not once taking his eyes off of her. "Yeah...like a log...you?"

Sarah nods and smiles. "Same." If he's going to lie about it, she doesn't see why she can't do the same.

"You look..." Chuck struggles to find the word to describe her.

Sarah gives a coy smile. "Same as always?"

Chuck shakes his head. "Better."

Unlike the other day, the compliment sits heavy on her chest. Maybe Chuck's telling the truth, but it's not so easy for Sarah to hear. Flattery is one thing, but there's so little left of the girl she'd been with Chuck.

That life is gone.

All she has left are the papers sitting on her nightstand.

Chuck seems to realize the position he's put her in because he stands at attention and opens the door. "Ready?"

"No." She grabs his hand impulsively and even that is too much. Chuck flinches as if she's just shocked him.

She loosens her grip but refuses to let him walk out the door. "You're not going out like that. Come on."

Before he can argue with her, she's already dragging him into the bathroom.

"What do you mean?" Chuck asks.

Sarah has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It astounds her that a man as intelligent as her husband could genuinely believe he'd get away unnoticed looking the way he did at a convention full of nosy journalists.

"Don't worry, Chuck, I promise you this won't hurt." He laughs nervously as she flips down the toilet seat and sits him down. Sarah rifles through her make-up bag until she finally exactly what she's looking for.

Chuck's eyes widen as she brandishes the bottle. "No! Sarah, I am _not_ wearing make-up!"

Sarah laughs, all their differences forgotten. The moment was simply too golden to pass up.

"Chuck. What are people going to think if you walk into the convention center with a black eye?"

He touches his face, wincing as he hits a tender spot. "It's not _that_ noticeable."

"Chuck," she says as she slathers a generous amount of concealer onto his cheek. "They're going to call the police and report me for domestic violence if you don't do this." Resisting Chuck's attempt to squirm away, she rubs her hands frantically over his face, trying to even out his complexion.

"I'd rather that than this!" he exclaims, breaking into a ticklish scream. "Sarah! Please!" He laughs as he grabs her hands, trying in vain to thwart her.

"Hold still!"

He squirms away and Sarah lunges for him, trying to hold him down. In her haste, she trips over the bathroom rug and loses her balance.

She gasps as she grabs onto the nearest thing and before she knows what's happened, she's fallen into Chuck's lap, her arms looped around his torso.

He grips her tightly in his arms, saving her from the fall, and all of a sudden they're staring into each other's eyes, their lips barely an inch from a cataclysmic impact.

Their surroundings fade into the background; all she knows is how fleeting happiness can be; how painfully sudden disappointment will set in.

Her body is acutely aware of his presence, his touch, and though she yearns for more, she knows better.

Sarah recovers first and extracts herself from the tangle of limbs, quickly standing to her feet.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles as she rifles through her purse again.

Chuck stares down into his lap, visibly subdued. "Yeah, me too," he whispers.

He sits still for the rest of the time it takes Sarah to finish with the cover-up and then they head wordlessly out to his car.

_

The weather was mild outside but the conditions in the car were anything but. Sarah's in no mood to talk and Chuck occupies himself between staring at the road and stealing glances at her.

They don't say a word to each other for the first fifteen minutes.

Finally Sarah catches him in the act. "What?" she whispers though it sounds more like a snarl.

Chuck stares guiltily ahead at the bumper of the car in front of them. "It's—"

"Don't say it's nothing," she warns.

Chuck clamps down on his mouth. "Okay," he agrees. Then with a defeated sigh: "About last night—"

"Nothing happened last night," she reminds him. If he wanted to talk about it, he'd have to defeat all her years of evasive training in the CIA.

_First rule: Deny. Deny. Deny. _

Chuck steals another glance at her when he thinks she's looking out the side-window. "It's not that I didn't—"

"_Chuck..._" she warns.

_Second rule: Distract subject; subvert conversation in another direction. _

"I just can't do this to myself again. It nearly destroyed me the first time—"

Sarah's momentarily speechless. The way he said the words made her insides twist; as if she ought to congratulate herself for accomplishing such a feat without ever lifting a finger.

"I just think we both owe it to ourselves to be honest with each other."

_Third rule: Silent Treatment. _

Sarah holds her breath. He's s right though. Sarah's indulged herself in denial for too long.

Goodbye never feels as final as it does now. Five years ago he wasn't ready, and now it seems he's already begun to take a scissor to what little that still connected them.

Why was she holding him back?

Why was she standing in the way of her own freedom?

"I care about you, Sarah, and I always will." When he said the words, they rolled off his tongue as if a part of a well-rehearsed speech. As if he's repeated this conversation in his head like a mantra.

"But I have to be honest with myself; I was never enough for you—"

"Chuck!" Sarah nearly slaps him in the face for the terrible accusation.

_You know that's not true. _

Chuck swallows back the rest of his words and seems to change his mind. There's no point in arguing over something if it's already a fundamental fact.

"Having you back with me for a few hours, a few days...it's not enough for me, for the rest of my life." He shakes his head. "You realized that a long time ago, and now I understand it too." Chuck's lips pressed together in a grim line. "I'm sorry about last night, but I hope you can understand."

Sarah does. It's like the phantom pain after the loss of a limb; they'll never be whole again and all they have are the memories.

The pain gets to be too much for her to bear but there's no escape within the moving vehicle.

"I do," she confesses. She understood all too well.

It wouldn't be the truth if it didn't hurt so much.

"What I don't understand, is why you waited." They both knew how the system worked; Chuck didn't need her signature to make things final. She'd never asked for anything—the car, the house—it was all his.

He turns to her. "You didn't even take your things," he says, his voice growing soft. "You didn't even leave a note."

Five years later and the accusation still stung.

"You wanted a clean break, I get that," he says. "But..." Chuck trains his eyes back on the road. "How was I supposed to know you weren't coming back?"

He wasn't. He couldn't have. Even Sarah hadn't known.

She hadn't known even on their last day together. And when she finally made her decision, she had to run, because even a second longer in their home, with him, would have changed her mind.

She couldn't bear to call him.

Couldn't find the courage to face him.

"I got the papers, but like I told you, I wasn't finished with our marriage. And I thought if you wanted something badly enough, you would see it through."

Sarah doesn't say a word. Chuck had answered his own question.

"But Chuck...five years..."

It was such a long time to wait.

"Why didn't you move on?"

He steps on the brake and turns to her, his eyes practically boring into hers.

_Have you?_ he seems to ask.

"I'm not like you," she whispers, more for herself than for him to hear. Chuck didn't personally see to the destruction of all that was good in his life for fear someone else would.

Chuck looks away and swallows the words unspoken. "I made a promise to you, Sarah. Our marriage may not have been real to you, but it was real to me. _For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad_… those weren't just words Sarah, I meant all of it."

"The marriage was real for me too," she says. "If you believe nothing else I say, then at least know that."

Chuck doesn't argue with her. "I kept thinking maybe someday...some part of you, might miss what we had and want to come home. What we had wasn't all bad. I loved being your husband even in the bad times."

The knife twists into her heart even before he's said the words.

"But now I understand."

It's the words he doesn't say that kills her the most.

_You came back for your job. _

_I'll never be enough. _

They fall into a somber mood and Sarah's so sick of the long silences. If all she had were a few more days with him, she didn't want to waste it on the past.

Chuck seems to arrive at the very same conclusion.

"Hey," he says gently, squeezing her arm to get her attention. "I saw your note on Kipling. I know you were hoping to speak with him...and I'm sorry yesterday didn't really work out." One moment he's struggling to find the words and the next, it's as if Sarah imagined the whole thing.

"Um...what I'm trying to say is, if you still want to speak with him, I'm sure it won't be a problem for me to introduce you. He used to work as a subsidiary of StarHawk EA and I own a part of the company, remember?

"There's another presentation at ten this morning; I could probably get us seats next to him."

She knows how much he despises doing these sorts of things, so it pains her to see him willingly step up to help her.

He's going to kill her with kindness and she'll die happily in his arms.

"Thanks," she whispers.

"Anything—" It's a slip of the tongue and Chuck catches himself before he says the rest. _For you. _

_I would do anything for you._

"Thanks," she says again to spare him from finishing the painful sentence.

Chuck grimaces as the inevitable tension returns. "Sarah, I don't want us to be this way," he says, looking to her for help.

"I don't either," she agrees. _But I don't know how to make things better. _

"I would like it if we could be friends..." Chuck's knuckles clench around the steering wheel nervously. "I mean I think it would be easier if we were—" He stops to reconsider what he's doing, then shakes his head and presses on. "It would be easier if we just looked beyond the past and made this week about two old friends."

_Friends._

The title is enough to break her heart but beggars can't be choosers.

"I'd really like that," she says softly.

Chuck seems to relax. "Yeah?" he asks, a smile spreading over his features. He nods. "Yeah...and maybe it won't hurt so much when it's time for us to part ways." He looks over at her, trying to gauge her reaction. "Maybe we'll remember each other a little more fondly this time around."

Sarah smiles despite herself.

That wasn't the problem. "I've always thought of you fondly," she whispers under her breath.


	23. Tuesday B II

_A/N: Thanks, _**Altonish**, _my partner in crime =) _

**Chapter 23:**

Sarah entered the auditorium on the arm of her husband. He submits to a few thirty-second interviews while she wears a plastic smile for the cameras. Everything on the surface is still and perfect; not a ripple in sight.

But just below the surface, the events of the last few days are still playing and replaying in the back of her mind. If she gives herself the chance, she'll fall over the edge—she's a straw away and a couple marbles short from becoming that pathetic creature who crawled off the plane into DC five years ago, and no matter what, she's promised herself never to sink to such depths again.

So she doesn't allow herself the time or space of mind. She won't delude herself with idle dreams that should have long been quelled. Her job depended on her ability to keep her focus.

Despite that, she couldn't stop the part of herself that kept wondering if her future was one that included Chuck.

Suddenly he pulls her closer, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

"That's our man."

It takes a moment before she realizes that she's focused all her attention on the feel of his breath on her neck. "What?" she asks.

"Kipling," Chuck jerks his head to his right.

Sarah stiffens and her false smile momentarily falters as she's reminded of why she's here. He looks at her, the worry impossible to hide in his dark brown eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

Sarah nods, filled with renewed resolve. "I'm just following a lead," she says. "I do this all the time. I know what I'm doing."

Chuck doesn't look convinced but he waves at Kipling anyway. The man doesn't appear to see them.

Chuck tries again to flag him down but he's not the only one attempting to attract the attention of the popular analyst.

"Just give me a minute," he says, letting go of her arm. Even though they were never really linked to begin with; Sarah feels the disconnect as acutely as losing a limb.

"I'll get him to come over here."

Before she can warn him to be careful, he's already left her side.

_

Sarah feels a tap on her shoulder and fights the urge to reach for the belt of knives tucked around her waist. By now she's already learned that nothing good ever came from such an innocuous request for her attention.

Reluctantly she spins around, greeting the journalist behind her with a smile.

"Mrs. Bartowski!" the woman exclaims, nearly shoving the voice recorder into Sarah's face. "Suze McNeil with _Women's Technology Review. _ I know the presentation's just about to start, but it would mean a lot if we could have a few words with the leading lady behind one of the most brilliant minds at this convention."

Sarah laughs nervously, debating with herself whether or not to feign some excuse or other. The woman was clearly an adept flatterer and a persistent one too. "I didn't realize people cared so much about the spouses of technology professionals.

The woman wasn't fazed in the slightest. "It won't be long, I promise," she presses, grabbing onto Sarah's elbow. Normally the agent would have shrugged away from such close contact with a stranger, but appearances dictated that she accept the anxious behaviour as normal and even welcomed.

"_Uhmm_..." Sarah looks around for her husband but he's still nowhere in sight.

"Please, it won't be long. It would mean so much, Mrs. Bartowski, all the women who read our magazine are just so curious about you!"

Sarah feigns a great big smile. _I'll bet they are. _

"Sure, but only a couple of minutes," she finally relents. Her husband was doing a favour for her; it was only fair she do this for him.

McNeil's face explodes into an excited grin. "Excellent! Why don't we go somewhere quieter."

The woman gestures outside the auditorium and Sarah hesitates, searching the crowd again for her husband. It was like searching for _that _one zebra in a herd of black and white. She's lost both Kipling and her husband to the sea of men in suits.

"Mrs. Bartowski?"

"I'm coming," Sarah replies without bothering to hide her irritation. She follows the woman reluctantly out of the crowded auditorium. "I have to get back to my husband soon—"

"No problem. It will be quick, I promise. Just a few questions." The woman gestured to the double-doors. "This way, please."

_

Sarah follows the reporter out of the auditorium and past the lobby.

"This way," McNeil beckons with an excited wave. "Just a little further."

Sarah arches a brow but doesn't say anything to crush the woman's hopes. How much further did they have to go and just how private were the questions she had in mind?

"This way, Mrs. Bartowski."

They walk past the lobby and down a line of exhibition halls. Every step she takes is one step further from the auditorium and everyone she encounters seemes to be walking in the opposite direction.

They turn and walk down another hallway, and now there aren't any people at all. It's just the two of them; McNeil eagerly in the lead and Sarah lagging behind. "Excuse me, but just how private does this need to be?"

"I just don't want us to talk over the crowds." McNeil turned and gave her a reassuring smile. "There's some unoccupied seats just around the corner." She pushed open a series of doors taking them further into the building and away from the auditorium.

"Well there's some seats over there..." Sarah frowns as she eyes a pair of perfectly suitable chairs just behind them.

McNeil ignores her as she leads Sarah through the doors and down an abandoned hallway in a part of the convention center she's never been to.

Everyone else has disappeared and the hairs on the back of Sarah's neck stand on end. It's not the same kind of dread she felt with the gold-digging wives or even with the slime Hawkins.

She had a _bad _feeling about this.

Despite every instinct to turn and walk the other way, Sarah pushes ahead. A bad feeling was good. This had to mean she was on the right track...right?

They round another corner and Sarah realizes it's a dead-end.

Then, just as suddenly, McNeil whips out a gun and aims it straight for Sarah's chest.

_Shoot!_

Well—not literally. Sarah ignores the instinct to reach for one of her concealed knives or the gun she's stowed away in her purse and sinks to the degrading role of a terrified civilian.

"Oh my God" she screams, raising her hands in the air.

McNeil's overeager demeanour remains but it's turned into something of a more sinister design. Gone is the innocence of a simple gadget-loving journalist and replaced is the gaze of a woman who's likely killed and will kill again.

"Mrs. Bartowski, I promise you if you do everything we say this will all be over soon. We don't want to hurt you."

_We?_

Sarah realizes she's really fallen down the rabbit hole when she notices two burly men come up behind her. Their size doesn't intimidate her in the slightest but it ought to.

"Oh my God, what do you want?" she shrieks, recoiling away from them. She stops short when McNeil walks forwards, gun aimed at the ready.

The woman flashes her a cold-blooded smile. "Nothing. This has nothing to do with you. Again, we apologize, we truly do—but your husband has been very uncooperative and we need to change that."

At the mention of Chuck, Sarah forgets the facade.

"Chuck?" she utters, real fear flashing before her eyes. "Chuck is involved?"

Her heart lurches at the thought.

_Oh God. _

But before Sarah can think of jumping to action, she's crushed by the overwhelming guilt of knowing she's failed him. The Director is right. She's lost her objectivity; she deserves to be sent to the slaughter-house.

Sarah whips around, determined to get back to the auditorium, but the hired men stand in her way, forming a formidable wall of muscle and brawn.

"No!" she screams as they grab her, a man on each arm. Suddenly the nightmare of five years ago rears its ugly head and she's forced to make the choice she could never then.

It's Chuck or her job, not both. She can blow her cover, grab the larger man's hand and use the pressure point in his hand to bring him to the ground—or she can allow herself to be dragged further down the rabbit hole.

"What do you want with me?" she cries, mildly resisting against their grip. "Oh please! Please don't hurt me!"

Sarah sniffs and squeezes out a few desperate tears, throwing every fibre of her being into her cover. She twists her arms a little, testing the men's grip, as she breaks down into a sob.

She nearly drops to the ground which is proof enough that they weren't holding her very tightly, and the simple fact tempts her to simply make a break for it.

But then she'll never know what they're really after.

"Where is my husband?" she wails.

McNeil smiles again. "Don't worry, we'll notify him of your absence soon enough. Then I'm sure he'll complete our little transaction."

Sarah doesn't understand and she tells them so.

"What transaction? I don't understand!"

"Of course not," McNeil says. She finally lowers her gun, which from an agent's point of view makes no sense—and then Sarah realizes why.

From the corner of her eye she sees the glint of a long hypodermic needle, and before she can utter a curse, a plea, or even a whimper, her world starts fading to black.

_I'm sorry, Chuck._


	24. Tuesday B III

_A/N: So this chapter evolved from what was once a small quaint chapter into something so HUGE it had to be split into two parts. __**mxpw**__ and __**Altonish**__ both had a hand in writing the following two chapters because i wasn't making any progress at all. Just know that the chapter royally sucked before they helped out. I couldn't have done it without you guys. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. _

**Chapter 24: **

_Those dirty bastards._

It's the first thought that creeps into her head when she finally regains consciousness. The bitter aftertaste of the drug lingers in her mouth long after it's left her system and it's the only thing that really makes her shudder.

If she were more of an optimist, she'd say all those previous drunken nights had prepared her for waking in a fog with a head threatening to split apart, but she's always been more of a fatalist and to be a fatalist, she'd have to believe she deserved this.

But of course she did.

She always seemed to find a way to make the worst of things, so of course she'd gone and left Chuck unprotected once again. _Some bodyguard._

_Filthy, disgusting, pieces of—_Sarah tugged her arms only to find that she was handcuffed to a thick pipe above her head. Her legs were free; not that she could really run away.

Sarah opens her eyes and tilts her head back, just narrowly missing the series of pipes that ran above her. They were underground, so it seemed, but she had no idea where.

Tilting her head back down, Sarah gives her dress a quick once over. It was dirty and smudged but appeared to be in one piece. They hadn't done much of a job frisking her as she could feel the concealed belt of knives digging into her ribs.

Aside from the splitting headache, she felt as physically well as a person could in her circumstances.

"Scream and I'll gag you."

Sarah whips her head around, barely avoiding a collision with the pipes around her. The sudden movement made her dizzy and she chastised herself for not hearing someone enter the room.

The door, her only hope for escape, was now blocked by a very burly man with a bad hair cut.

_Why must mercenaries always look like jug-heads? _

"What do you people want from me?" she asks, purposely softening the tone of her voice. She shrinks against the pipe, making herself look as small and innocuous as possible.

The man laughs and places his hands behind his back. "From you? Nothing." His eyes roam freely over her body and he gives an appreciative smile. "Well...I suppose that's not completely true."

Even fully clothed, Sarah feels his eyes raking all over her. She wouldn't have felt less violated if he'd just run his hands all over her. The thought makes her skin crawl and she feels the sudden compulsion to scrub herself all over with scalding hot water and soap. Still lust breeds opportunity and it's an opening Sarah needs.

"Then why am I here?" she whimpers. "Do you want money?"

The man laughs. "Not from you." His rigid posture eases and he leans against the threshold of the door in a casual pose. "All I need from you is to lie back and do nothing. I'm sure you're plenty used to that."

Sarah burned internally with rage. "Like my husband would even care," she scoffs.

The man smirks. "Trouble in paradise? Well you just be a good girl and your husband will either come through for you or you and I may get to have a little fun."

He laughs at the prospect and pushes his wide girth off the door, relinquishing the role of human doorstop.

The door slams shut and Sarah's left alone in the dark handcuffed to the pipe.

* * *

_The door is hanging wide open when Sarah walks through the door. She drove here as fast as she could but she's still too late. _

"_Hello?" she calls. "Anyone here?" _

_Her heels crunch against broken shards of glass and when she does a quick once-over of her surroundings, it's as if a tornado's chewed through the house and regurgitated all over the front hall._

"_Hello? Hello?" _

_Silence. Sarah's heart hammers in her ear and she's just about to quick-dial on her phone when she hears a voice. _

"_In here." _

_Sarah runs into the living room where Carl is stooped over the couch, trying to comfort his daughter. The little girl buries her face into his chest, shaking with fear. _

"_Oh my God, I'm so sorry." Sarah rushes to their side but the little girl shrinks against her father and makes Sarah think twice. _

_This isn't her family. _

_This isn't what she's here for. _

"_Um...Soph—" _

_Carl sighs. "She's upstairs," he says with a hint of resignation. _

_Sarah turns in the direction of the stairs but hesitates at the last second. "Are you guys going to be okay?" _

_He nods. "We'll be okay. I'm not so sure about..." He nods wordlessly in the direction of the upstairs. "I can't reach her, Sarah. Tell her it's okay, we're okay." _

_Sarah takes a deep breath and runs upstairs, preparing herself for the worst. _

"_Sophie?" she calls, heading down the hall to the last room on the right. "Sophie?" _

_There's no response but Sarah already knows where she'll find her friend. She knocks once on the master bedroom door then turns the knob and pushes. Before the door is even half open, a hand slips through and grabs Sarah by the collar, dragging her inside. _

"_Sophie!" Sarah yells, just barely ducking a blow to the head. "Sophie, it's me!" she screams, side-stepping a round-house kick. "What the hell!" _

_The older woman launches herself at the blond agent, shoving her into the door. Sarah is good but Sophie isn't the enemy and she can't bring herself to match the woman's aggression._

"_Sophie!" _

_It's not until there's a gun pointed to the base of Sarah's skull that her friend finally snaps back._

"_Sarah," she utters, her eyes flickering with recognition. _

_Sarah takes a deep breath. "Hello to you too!" she snarls, feeling her heart race against her chest. "What's gotten into you?" she asks, pushing her away. _

_Sophie doesn't have any answers for her. She stares dumbstruck at the offending weapon, then blankly back at her. _

_Without a word she stalks off to the opposite end of the room and sits down on the bed, shutting down completely. The only sound in the room is that of her furiously cleaning her firearm. _

"_Hey..." Sarah softens her approach and sits down beside her friend. She watches her work meticulously, unsure how to start the conversation. _

"_Do you...do you want me to help you clean that?" _

_Even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they're not the right ones. _

Damn it._ She wishes she had Chuck with her; he'd know exactly the things to say. _

_Sophie shakes her head. "No." Then on second thought- "Did you bring your car?" _

"_Yes?" She didn't like where this was headed. She wasn't really interested in going off on some vigilante side-mission today, especially not when she's promised she'd go out with Chuck and his family. _

_Sarah grabs onto her friend's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "Hey, it could have happened to anyone." _

_The woman snaps. "But it happened to me!" she snarls, tossing the gun. "Of all the people it could have happened to, it happened to _me._" _

_A stranger would see Sophie as an egomaniac but Sarah understands her better than most. Things like this shouldn't happen to people like them; people who were careful, who had the training..._

"_Sophie, it was a random act. They weren't targeting you—"_

"_It's not about the break-and-enter!" Sophie jumps to her feet and begins to pace. Sarah no longer knows what this is really about anymore, clearly her understanding was limited only to the most obvious. "_I _was supposed to protect my family," she exclaims, jabbing the accusatory finger back at herself. "_I_ was supposed to make sure this kind of shit doesn't ever happen." _

_Sarah takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She's never seen the woman like this before; she's literally foaming at the mouth. _

"_Soph...you can't protect them from everything." _

_What's the use of all that training if you can't protect the ones you love? Sarah's a hypocrite for suggesting otherwise. _

_Sophie fixes her with a steely glare. "That doesn't mean I can't _try_." _

_Then, just when Sarah least expects it, Sophie breaks down in tears. The woman sinks back down on the edge of the bed and buries her face into her hands, shamed by her weakness. _

_The sight leaves Sarah speechless. She feels as if she's just witnessed something she shouldn't have, something terrible that will sear into the back of her mind forever. _

"_Oh Soph..." _

"_It's too hard, Sarah. I was wrong. You can't have it all." _

"_What?" Sympathy for her friend dissipates and she feels as if the wool has just been lifted from her eyes. _

"_It's true, Sarah. I lied," Sophie confesses. "You can't have it all. If I hadn't been protecting other people's families, then mine would still be safe." _

"_Don't say that." Sarah shakes her head. She refuses to hear it. "You can't say things like that." _

_"Why not? It's the truth!" Sophie exclaims. "You can't have everything." _

_Sarah doesn't know what comes over her, but a statement like that is unacceptable. Sophie was supposed to be her mentor, the one who talked her out of her own despairing thoughts. _

_She was the word of reason. All the proof she needed. _

_"No!" Sarah snaps. She grabs her friend by the shoulder and threatens to pound the fact into her skull. "You can't drag me out into the ocean with words like 'it'll be fine' and 'you can do it all' and then just give up. If it doesn't work for you, then what the hell am I supposed to do?" _

_Growling, Sarah reaches into her bag and fetches her car keys. "Get your gear," she orders as she checks the magazine on her own firearm. _"_Get changed, we're leaving." _

_"W-w-why?" Sophie seems to slowly shake herself out of her bout of self-pity. "Where are we going?" _

_"We're going to go fix it. Make sure nobody ever thinks they can touch your family again." _

_

* * *

_

Sarah curses softly under her breath when she realizes she's fallen asleep. The after-effects of whatever the hell they gave her and this dark confinement do little to make matters easier.

She feels like they've finally left her system though when she realizes she can hear arguing just outside her make-shift prison.

"He says he still won't negotiate."

"He says if we don't return her, we'll be sorry."

"Who is this man?"

Sarah hears a crash from the room across. "We'll send him back a piece of his woman, maybe then he'll realize how serious we are."

Sarah's heart sinks at the threat of something sinister.

_What has Chuck gotten himself into? _

The thought of him having to deal with people like these drives a stake through her heart. The Director had warned her that he may be in way over his head but she'd thought it was at most a power struggle between Hawkins and Chuck. An argument over the title of their next game, a software rivalry with Kipling perhaps but nothing so sinister as this.

Kidnapping and extortion? These men definitely belonged in Sarah's world, and Chuck had walked away from this life a long time ago.

The door to her holding-cell suddenly flies open with a crash and the guard that had visited her earlier stomps in.

"Your husband must not care about you very much."

Whatever the reasons, the words still stung. She may be proud of Chuck for not giving in, but _her_ Chuck would never leave her in the clutches of these men.

"We've had some problems," Sarah admits.

"He's leaving you to die," the man informs bluntly. "I'd say that's more than a problem."

Sarah whimpers. "Why are you doing this? My husband makes computer games for children..."

The man snorts. "The wives never know what kind of men they marry. Your husband is far from innocent. We need what he has. If you value your life, you'd best help convince him to give us Simian."

"Who?" Sarah wrinkles her brows. "Who's that?"

The man growls. "Great. You don't even know what it is," he says, cursing at her uselessness.

"I'm sorry," Sarah says, using a meek voice. "Please don't kill me. Maybe I can help you."

The man swears again. "What do you know that could help me?"

"I don't know… I could talk to him."

"I thought your husband did not care about you?"

Sarah gulps. _Crud, _she has to change her game-plan.

"I…please, I want to help, just tell me what I can do..."

The man steps forward and squats down to meet her at eye-level. "Just remain cooperative and hopefully your husband won't do anything foolish," he says, running a finger down her cheek. It's enough to elicit a series of chills all through Sarah's body.

She hides her disgust and nods, her eyes wide with innocence.

"You're very pretty." Sarah's ears perk. So this wasn't such a hopeless case after all. "It's a shame your husband ignores you."

"He's a busy man," she says. Even after all this, her first instinct is still to defend him.

"If I had you at home, I'd find time for you."

Sarah gives the man a small smile. "Thank you."

"Stay strong, I'm sure you'll get out of this just fine." The man runs his hand down Sarah side then turns and walks away.

Sarah shudders in disgust, but the hook is set. She scowls at him whilst his back is turned to her.

"Wait!" she cries. The man turns back to her. "You'll come back and visit me right?" Sarah allows her voice to waver at the end even though she already knows she's got him on the hook.

The man smiles. "Don't you worry, darlin'. I'll be back."


	25. Tuesday B IV

**Chapter 25: **

Sarah closes her eyes and thinks back to a time before all of this—before her return, before she ever thought of running away. The brief blip in her long lonely existence when she actually thought she knew what it meant to be _happy_.

She remembers falling asleep in his arms, marvelling at the simplest things. How he was completely and wholly hers, and she was forever his. She remembers how perfect everything felt, how safe and sublime, how she thought she could die happily without regret knowing she had experienced everything life had to offer—

The tears begin to fall. Sarah doesn't even realize it until she hears the door scrape open again. Hastily she tries to wipe away the evidence only to stop.

No. This was just the kind of thing men like him enjoyed.

"Don't cry, Mrs. Bartowski," the guard says. "Once your husband gives us what we want, we'll let you go. No harm, no foul." He shrugs, and gives a smile. "Hurting your leverage is bad business."

While Sarah realizes the truth of his words, it does not ease her mind at all. Either Chuck gives them what they want or she's in trouble. The equation doesn't change for her, both sides are still negative. It's up to her to change Chuck's odds.

"You thirsty?" The man waves a bottle of water at her.

Sarah nods eagerly, licking her parched lips.

The man walks towards her with little regard for his safety. He places himself unnecessarily close to her and unscrews the cap, offering her a drink. Sarah only hesitates for a second before she decides that the risk of being drugged again was worth the chance at flushing some of the drugs out of her system.

She takes two full swallows before she stops.

"You done?" he asks.

"I can't drink anymore," Sarah replies with a shake of her head. "_Uhm_..." She flushes with embarrassment. "I really have to pee."

"Oh...uh..." Clearly this isn't something the man's ever thought of.

"Please?" Sarah begs, sniffling to add cause to her case. "I won't be any trouble. I just don't want to make a mess."

The man grimaces but ultimately nods. "Sure," he agrees. 'Wouldn't want you to make a mess..." He reaches above her and unties her hands. Sarah lowers her arms and rubs her sore wrists; fighting the ache of pins and needles as the blood returns to her limbs. She could fight if she had to, but she hoped she could get a few minutes of rest.

When the man doesn't move out of her way, she asks: "Where should I..." He points to a corner of the small room.

Sarah can't help herself. She gasps. "Don't...don't you have a bathroom?"

The man laughs. "Trust me, darlin', you're better off."

Sarah bristles at the endearment. She's long lost what dignity she has left and she reminds herself that she has to play up her part. With a sigh under her breath, Sarah forces herself to slink into the corner and hike up her dress.

She knows he's watching and she uses the humiliating experience to her own advantage, making a show of pulling her panties back on. She also takes the moment to pull a knife out of its sheath.

Slowly as she walks back to the leering man, she makes sure to smile.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

The man smiles back. "Well, we're friends aren't we, darlin'?"

Sarah lunges at him, turning the knife in her hand and shoving it through his windpipe. She doesn't flinch at what she's done, although it does fill her with a certain sense of satisfaction.

"Don't you _ever_ call me 'darlin'," she growls.

The white's of the man's eyes threaten to engulf the surface of his vision and he falls to the ground, grappling at the wound and gasping for breath. He gropes the handle of the knife just as Sarah steps on the end, pushing it all the way until the knifepoint met the ground.

Blood spurts in a steady stream.

The man gasps and tries desperately to grab onto something—anything and Sarah watches impassively.

His eyes plead with her desperately but Sarah's deaf to the sight. She waits until he stops thrashing, then reaches down and fishes the keys out of his pocket.

"Bastard," she slurs and kicks his still-warm body out of the way as she heads for the door.

* * *

_It's one in the morning. It's cold and dark and Sarah is so damn tired. And instead of enjoying a late night over at the in-laws or curled up in a warm bed already with her husband, she's out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, standing over a pair of snivelling grown men on their knees. _

"_You guys think you're a couple of hot-shots, huh?" Sophie asks, pressing the barrel of her gun against one man's forehead. "Think you're really something when you've got a gun, don't you?" _

_She tilts her head and laughs but it's a cold and humourless sound that resonates from her throat. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It does feel pretty good." _

_The men meekly shake their heads. "Please, ma'am," one of them sputters. His nose is clearly broken and he's missing a couple of teeth. _

_Touching Sarah had its consequences. _

"_We've made a mistake" he sputters. " We're sorry. We won't do it again." _

_And that's exactly it._

"_You've had ample time for rehabilitation," Sarah says. The long list of offenses and crimes are about as long as a yellow-pages. "Yet here you are breaking into people's homes. Why don't I believe you?" _

"_Uh...we won't, we swear." one of them says, swallowing nervously. _

_Sophie shakes her head. "And what deity could you possibly believe in that will keep you to that promise?" she asks. "You scared my little girl." Sophie's eyes glitter dangerously. "Nobody and I mean _nobody _scares my little girl!" _

_Sarah intervenes before Sophie loses it again. _

"_Your gang knows where you went tonight?" Sarah asks. _

_One of the men nods solemnly and the other looks almost relieved. "Well then I think we'll send them a little message about the consequences of messing with our families." _

_What little bravado the men have left flees from them. Their eyes fill with fearful tears and they begin to shake like frightened animals. _

"_Please...please..." they beg, bowing down on the ground. The sight is a bit surreal, just as it must have been when David had slain Goliath. It was their grave mistake to underestimate two pretty women out alone at night. _

"_Nobody messes with my family," Sophie informs. _

"_We won't. Never again!" they swear. "Please, just let us go—" _

"_What about my family?" Sarah asks, shoving the gun into the other man's back. "You think it's okay to hurt them?" _

"_No! No!" they exclaim. "Never! We would never!" _

"_See that's the thing about scumbags," Sarah says. "It's so hard to trust them." _

"_No, no! We'll make sure it never happens. Please!" _

_Sarah smiles, her index finger wrapping around the trigger. "I know." _

"_Because we're going to make sure of it." _

_

* * *

_

Sarah bursts from her cell, her jailer's gun at the ready expecting a room full of guards. There's nobody; just a TV that somebody kicked over earlier in a fit of rage.

"Chuck," Sarah whispers. The room is small and it seems to be just a passage out to a larger hallway. Her stomach clenches as she realizes the facility is much larger than she'd imagined. There is no clear escape and the hallway seems to go on forever. If there are security cameras they are bound to find her.

She doesn't want to chance the doors (who knows what she could walk into) so she makes her way down the hall. Her hand is forced when she starts to hear voices coming towards her.

She has no choice. Sarah pushes on the only door in the vicinity and ducks inside.

The room she's entered is cavernous; dark and filled with rows upon rows of metal and wooden crates. The voices grow louder, closer, but her curiosity gets the better of her and she opens the nearest crate.

Inside are neat little rows of M67 fragmentation grenades lined up like ducks. Sarah frowns and opens the next nearest crate as well. Five pristine M4 carbines, their sleekness belying their lethality greet her. It's a concerning sight.

Sarah stalks over to the opposite side of the room and picks a crate at random.

Twenty-four sets of state of the art night vision goggles.

The next contains high explosives and a row of detonators.

She sighs and squeezes the P229 she got off her jailer harshly.

These people, whoever they were, seemed to have solved the funding problem that had hamstrung Fulcrum throughout her protracted fight with them.

If they had access to military-grade equipment…

_Chuck. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? _

Sarah couldn't believe her husband was involved in this. He made computer games for God's sake. The Director had given no hint that it went this far.

Did Chuck know? Sarah found it hard to believe the man she'd given her heart to was capable of dealing with a criminal organization of this magnitude. But she'd seen time and time again, the folly of underestimating Chuck.

_What the hell was going on here? _

The men in the hallway pass and Sarah decides her best bet of finding out the truth is to follow them.

Silently she slips out the doorway of the armory and treads carefully down the hallway. Her shoes keep tapping against the concrete so she stoops over to remove them quickly, then hurries after the two men.

They step into one of the rooms between her cell and the armory and Sarah rushes after them to catch the door before it shuts. She lets it slam, but holds the handle so the catch is open.

_Please don't notice. Please don't notice…_

There is no immediate cry of surprise and Sarah pushes the door open half an inch, just enough to let the sound through.

"We'll be making the call in five minutes. If he doesn't give us what we want we'll have to take more drastic measures."

_Chuck_. They were talking about Chuck. They had to be. The realization is almost enough to make her burst through the open door but she stops herself at the last second.

She has to keep her primary mission in mind.

"Maybe he doesn't believe we'll hurt her."

The first man grunts. "That idiot has no idea who he's messing with."

A third voice rattles to life. "You are right, Sergei, he has no idea. Perhaps it is time we show him. If he won't give us what we want, send him his wife's ring finger in a box. That should get him talking.

"Whatever their problems, he can't want to see her taken apart piece by piece. We've given him enough time, tell Alex to call him again." The name Sergei could be eastern European, but the speaker has a deep rich voice with a more Arabic accent. Libyan is Sarah's guess, but she can't tell.

Sarah hears shuffling feet in the room and she eases the door back into its original position and steps away. Her escape is about to be found out and she still doesn't know who these people are.

She makes her way down the hallway and presses herself into another door well as Sergei and another man exits the room she'd been spying on.

They turn and walk away from her and Sarah follows them down the hallway.

She catches up with them in some sort of motor pool. There are a series of vehicles parked in a large warehouse—vehicles mean an exit, but Sarah still hasn't learned who she's up against.

She ducks in amongst the vehicles, hiding behind a large olive-green cargo truck. She sees the men she's followed standing in a small office by the garage.

Moving quickly on her feet, she gets to the side wall of the office. There are blinds and when she peeks down, she can make out some of the people in the room.

There are two more of them standing with them, making a grand total of four. One's dark, another's as pale as an albino, and the other two are somewhere in between. It's an ethnic hodgepodge and it irks her that she can't figure out their origins.

The four of them stand around a small wooden desk. One of them has an old office phone pressed to his ear and the others lean forwards eager to catch the conversation.

Sarah steps closer, hugging the walls and ducking behind a metal shelf as she tries to catch what they are saying.

"It's irrelevant who I work for, what matters is that we have your wife."

Sarah's ears immediately perk up.

"We finished negotiating when you rejected our generous offers. Now we are doing this the hard way." Sarah squats down to a larger hole in the blinds trying to better see who's speaking. _Is it Sergei, Alex or someone else?_

The men all hover over the ancient phone.

"Give us _Simian_ and in return, we will return your wife. That's the deal now."

Sarah wrinkles her brows at the name. It's the second time she's heard it mentioned. For a second she wonders if she's misheard the name 'Simon' or whether they were talking about an ape of some sort.

There's a dreadful pause, then: "I'm afraid that isn't possible. You have our word she is safe and unharmed, but if you don't agree to give us Simian she will not remain that way."

Sarah lets out a sigh of relief. It's just as well they weren't going to let Chuck speak to her; she had that much longer before they discovered the unfortunate demise of their friend.

"You don't trust us?" The speaker laughs. "I should hope not, Mr. Bartowski. Regardless, either we make a deal or we have no use for your wife. My boss has grown impatient with your stalling. Will you make the exchange?"

Sarah's ears strained to hear what Chuck had to say in response but it was impossible. She could barely make out the man speaking to him.

There's another dark and ominous laugh.

"Good. I'm glad. It would have been a shame for anything to happen to such a pretty woman."

_No!_ Sarah wants to scream. Her entire body suddenly floods with panic, rendering her momentarily hapless. She had no idea what _Simian_ was, but whether it was a monkey or a man, she couldn't let him simply hand it over to these people.

She has no idea what Chuck intends to do but she knows without a doubt that he's going to do something that will get him killed.

_These people weren't playing._

Carefully, she backs away from the office.

She needs to escape—n_ow. _

She's their only leverage. Once she's free, they'll have nothing to hold over Chuck and this _Simian_, whatever and whoever that was, would be safe.

She reasons that the garage must have a door and she starts walking back through the aisles of vehicles.

A glance over her shoulder reveals her what she's dreaded most; the men are exiting the office. She quickens her pace knowing she has only seconds before she's spotted, when she steps on a half-filled oil pan causing it to clatter on the ground.

The contents spill all over her bare feet, covering them with slick, black oil.

_Shit! _

Sarah whips around and she and Sergei make eye contact. He shouts something in Arabic and Sarah raises her weapon and fires into his chest. He drops to the ground but her quick escape is blown. One of the other men begins to shout for someone to come inside.

Sarah hustles towards the back of the garage when to her horror the side door opens and a line of men come charging through. At least eight of them come in before Sarah shoots one, stopping the flood of incoming men. Most of them appear to be unarmed, but one of them fires back at her with a pistol. Sarah ducks behind a Lincoln Continental for cover.

_Fuck! _

She had twelve rounds when she started and she's used two, there was no clear answer to how many hostiles were in this facility and the exit was blocked so she'd need another way out.

Things didn't look good.

Sarah starts making her way back towards the office. A smattering of machine gun fire causes her to slide behind the green cargo truck again for cover.

She couldn't die, not like this. The men would have nothing to negotiate with, but Chuck wouldn't know. Plus there'd be nobody to protect Chuck.

Sarah fires twice at the gas tank of the cargo van behind her. Gasoline begins to spill onto the pavement and she shoots at the ground hoping the fumes will catch on fire.

No such luck.

If she could just start a fire she might be able to create enough chaos to get out of this mess.

One more round against the pavement yields no result other than giving away her position. Another barrage of gunfire tears through the cargo truck and the steel belted radial she's hiding behind deflates.

She's fast running out of options—she had six shots left and the only place she knows to get more ammo is deep in the facility.

Sarah takes a deep breath.

_One,_

_Two,_

_Three! _

She runs out from behind the cargo truck at full speed heading for the door. The three remaining men from the office have their guns trained on the vehicle and she fires at all three in rapid fashion. Only one of them returns fire, the other two fall to the ground.

Sarah dives and rolls.

He fires again and misses but so does Sarah. She does however manage to hit him in the arm. She's tempted to shoot again but she can't afford to waste another bullet so she scrambles to her feet, the slick oil making traction difficult.

Shots come from behind her as she runs out of the room.

"Stop!" someone yells. She doesn't. Instead she pulls her gun up behind her and fires blindly as she runs down the hallway.

She can hear the footsteps of people chasing her and up ahead she spies the office she'd seen earlier. The door is open and a large man is standing in her way.

His eyes grow wide when he realizes who Sarah is. She trains her gun on him and runs until she's caught up to him.

He sticks up his hands almost as if it were a reflex.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

"Escaping," she replies in a breathless gasp.

"Impossible," he booms. "Put down your weapon and I promise you will not be harmed." Sarah nearly laughs as she grabs him by his khaki shirt and yanks him into the hallway, walking behind him and using his large torso as a shield.

"Not going to happen," she wheezes. "Stop or I'll shoot him!" she warns the oncoming crowd.

"It is okay," the man tells the others in a confident voice. "She can't escape. Indulge her fantasy and put your weapons down." Sarah peeks from behind him, and it appears the men are unsure what to do. "She can't escape this place so just put your weapons away."

Slowly the men lower their weapons and Sarah tugs her hostage by the collar all the while reminding him to behave with the pistol shoved firmly against his back.

"How far do you think you'll get?" the man asks.

"That depends. Where's the exit?"

The man is clearly no stranger to having his life threatened because he laughs. "Why would I help you?"

"Because I'll shoot you if you don't," Sarah growls, continuing to tug the man backwards. The other men are out of sight now.

While it doesn't seem like they are following her, the realization is not a comforting one. It only means they have a way to get behind her.

Sarah has no intention of going far though.

"Little girl, I'm the only thing keeping you alive. You shoot me and my men will kill you."

"Yeah, it sucks for both of us, doesn't it?" Sarah finally finds the door she's been searching for and throws the both of them into the armory.

"How did you—"

"Oh, I've been having a look around." Sarah walks over to one of the smaller crates and retrieves a pair of handcuffs from it. She tosses them over. "Hands behind your back, _please_."

When he finishes cuffing himself, Sarah goes over to the box of C-4 and picks up the corresponding radio detonator. She quickly programs them and sticks the detonators into the blocks of C-4.

She picks up a second switch and two more detonators.

The man sees everything and his eyes widen in alarm. "Don't do this!"

"Shut up!" Sarah barks. She exchanges her Sig for one with a full clip and picks up a small pile of munitions in her other hand. Her dress was not conducive to hauling an arsenal and she wasn't going to be able to make it far with the C-4.

What she really needs is an exterior wall.

"Come on," Sarah orders.

"Look, lady" the man begs. "There is no need for this. I'll let you go!"

"Too late," Sarah growls. "I'm making my own exit."

She presses the gun to the man's chest and he finally starts moving. "Who are you anyway?"

"Does it matter?" the man replies.

"That depends on if I make it out of here alive or not."

"The way you're going, I don't like your chances."

Sarah ignores him and her own nagging conscience.

"Just move." She knees him in the back to get him walking and they exit the armory.

The men looking for them don't appear to be the most adept since they are nowhere to be seen. They encounter only one man in the hallway and Sarah shoots him through the chest without hesitation. There's a risk they might have heard the shot but she didn't have the time to negotiate.

She pushes her hostage forwards.

"Stop this," he asks again.

"No. You crossed a line when you dragged Chuck into whatever this is." She pushes him roughly to get him to walk faster. "Now we're all going for a ride."

He looks at her quizzically. "Who do you work for?"

"Me? Nobody." She grants him a rare smile. "I'm just your typical suburban housewife."

Two more men come running down the hallway and Sarah disposes of them with one round each from her pistol.

They reach a turn in the hallway and as soon as she peeks around the corner, machine gunfire erupts.

"Shit," she mutters.

"Kill her! She has a detonator!" her hostage shouts.

Sarah smacks him in the head with the butt of her pistol, feeling the hard bone cave in under the brute force.

"Idiot!" she curses.

The men move to carry out his order, firing into her hallway. Sarah presses the detonator switch for the C-4 in the armory and a second later, the building starts to shake.

Then a series of smaller explosions start.

The man looks at him in horror. "What have you done?"

"What do you mean?" Sarah asks.

Suddenly a _BOOM _several times larger in magnitude than the C-4 causes the building's foundations to shudder and the walls to shift to one side. Large chunks of cement begin to fall from the ceiling and the men shooting at her drop their weapons and tear down the hallway.

Sarah grabs the second detonator and the blocks of C-4 she's been carrying and follows the retreating horde. Wherever they were going, they were leaving like rats on a sinking ship.

Another distant explosion sounds but even the subtle shaking is too much for the collapsing building. The lights go out and her bare oiled feet are no match for boots. Soon she loses her way and she finds herself alone.

_Shit. _

She's blocked in a building that's fast-coming to pieces. She's running as fast as her feet will carry her but she has no idea where to go.

Sarah checks doors as she runs past them, looking for something—anything. The initial explosion has shifted the foundations and most of the doors are jammed.

Smoke begins to pour from the rubble. There's a fire though she doesn't know exactly where. All she knows is that she has to get out of here.

She pushes on one of the last sets of doors in the hall and it swings open as easily as cutting through air.

At last! She sees what she's looking for—light from a broken window. Sarah doesn't think she's ever seen a sight more beautiful.

As she runs towards it, she realizes it's too high for her to climb out—but she still has her C-4. She sets the charge at the base of the wall and retreats out of the room.

Sarah finds the safest spot she can in such poor lighting and pushes the detonator switch.

One more _BOOM _hits the facility and pulverized concrete come flying at her, scratching her face and choking her lungs. It's impossible to see through the dust and smoke but she stumbles forward, praying she might have finally found the way out.

More light shines through as she makes her way towards the blown out room.

It seems she's been successful.

Just as she's about to celebrate her great escape, she realizes she's taken out the floor as well as the wall. Sarah doesn't even have the chance to scream or gasp before she freefalls.

Her stomach lurches but nothing can prepare for the terrible impact.

Once…twice…three times she rolls against ground, her body tossed into stone and metal. The pain sears through her just as if she's were tossed into the fire.

Sarah stands corrected. There are worse ways to die than drowning.

Her head contacts something solid and she's blinded by a bright flash of light. The pain overwhelms her and she feels all her strength ebbing away.

Vision fading, her last conscious thought is that of Chuck and how she's failed him.

_Forgive me, Chuck. _

_

* * *

_

_The means to an end tonight means Sarah has to miss dinner with Chuck and his family. She doesn't lie but she doesn't tell him exactly what she's been up to when she finally gets home. _

_She gets the worried look from him, as she knows she will. They've had to burn their clothes (it was evidence, after all) and she's wearing something of Sophie's. _

_She reeks of smoke but hopefully nothing else. In the worst case scenario, she'll tell him she's taken up a bad habit or something. _

"_Is she okay?" _

_Sarah nods and hopes he won't ask for any of the details. _

"_Are you okay?" _

_Sarah nods again. "Fine." _

_To his credit, Chuck doesn't ask for an explanation. He just wants to know one thing— "Was it worth it?" _

_It's a simple question. _

To be able to sleep at night knowing that she could still have it all?

To wake and not have to doubt whether they could get through another day together?

"_Yes." _Absolutely.


	26. Tuesday B V

_A/N: Many thanks to __**Altonish**__ for his tireless efforts in helping to make this fic into something much much better. _

_Now, I'm all for the candy coating so for those who don't like leaving with a bitter aftertaste, might I suggestion skipping the last sentence at the end?_

**Chapter 26: **

Sarah drifts in and out of consciousness. One second she's sore all over and the next, she's floating in a deep sea of nothingness.

It's a nice change. For once she's somewhere where nothing can harm her. For the first time that she can remember, she doesn't feel like running. All she has to do is surrender and she can feel this way forever.

Wouldn't that be nice?

The pain ebbs and flows, and so do her thoughts.

_Chuck..._ _Simon...the explosion..._

She hears voices but they are so muffled it's as if she's stuck underneath a thick pane of glass. When she opens her eyes, it's already nightfall—or had she simply gone blind as well as partially deaf?

Sarah drifts back to the darkness but when the ground begins to tremble beneath her, the pain in her shoulder is so acute it wrenches her from her reverie. Suddenly the darkness is lifted from her and light pours down, threatening to sear her vision with its intensity.

"Get the stretcher, we've got a live one here!" someone hollers.

Sarah groans and closes her eyes. Like a fish dragged out of water, she's been torn from the only safe place she knows. The pain in her arm intensifies but she knows there's no returning.

It's back to the harsh reality.

"Ma'am?" The voice grows louder until it's nearly bellowing into her ear. "Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Sarah winces. "Yes?" she croaks. She tries to speak louder but it's impossible; her throat feels as if it's collapsed onto itself.

"Don't worry, ma'am, you're going to be just fine."

Sarah wasn't worried about that. It was the least of her worries in fact. Her immediate thoughts were of the men who'd kept her captive.

"The others?"

The paramedic crouches down by her side. "What others?"

Sirens blare in the not too distant vicinity. It's a nightmare. She's brought the paramedics, the police and the firemen to their knees. All she needs now is the Calvary and she's set.

"Don't try to move." Someone pushes her down before she can try to squirm out of the rubble and another lifts the crushing weight off her arm. "Everything will be okay."

Sarah stares up at him, in awe of his audacity. _How can you possibly say that? _

"Where are the others?" she repeats.

The paramedic again eyes her with a confused expression. "Luckily everyone's been evacuated." He pats her gently on the hand. "Everything's going to be okay."

Sarah's eyes widen at the implications. "No!" she exclaims, expending all her strength just to raise her voice in the single-syllable answer. "No! You don't understand! Those people—"

The paramedic pushes her back against the ground. "Ma'am, please try to remain still. We have to rule out spinal cord injuries before we can allow you to move around."

"No! Those people—"

"—are fine," the man assures. "Everyone's been accounted for. Please, Ma'am, you have to relax."

Nothing he said made sense. Those people...she was sure she'd left a few bodies in the aftermath. She'd shot several of them, how could they not be accounted for?

Fear begins to seep through every pore as she wonders how many hours she's spent unconscious. If she hadn't been buried by the rubble, would she still be alive?

Sarah shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. But the combination of a bad cocktail of drugs and the most recent head trauma mired rational thought like a snail drowning in peanut butter.

_Chuck!_

Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest when she realizes what'll happen next. She has to get to him before they do; this is her second chance, her way of making things right. She's messed up her mission the first time and she'll be damned if she does it again.

"I have to go—"

The paramedic laughs. "I'm afraid you're not fit to go anywhere, ma'am." He pushes her down gently but Sarah rebukes, shoving him out of the way. Unfortunately her attempts are severely subdued by the weakness in her arm—still, her intentions are not appreciated.

"Hey, Perkins..." The paramedic turns around to his colleague. "I think we're going to need some lorazepam here."

Sarah's ears perk at the drug entity. "I don't need a sedative!" she growls.

The paramedic laughs again, as if this were all still some big joke. "No, ma'am, but it will help you get some rest."

"I don't need rest. I need to find my husband—"

"Don't worry, we'll look after all that—"

_No! _

Sarah doesn't know who to trust anymore. What if these men weren't paramedics or firefighters or policemen? What if this was all some elaborate scheme to flush out her husband?

_Chuck! _

"No! Don't you touch me!" she snarls, pushing him away. Her one arm is useless and she finds the other suddenly being pinned down.

"Uh, Greg, get the four mg vial, I don't think the two will be enough."

He's raising the stakes and it's only adding fuel to the fire. "I know what that is and I don't need it!"

"Ma'am, please try to remain calm." His soothing voice was about as effective as slathering salt onto an open wound.

Sarah glares at the paramedic. If he said it just one more time...

She sees the paramedic coming at her with needle and the adrenaline floods inside of her. Sarah grabs the arm holding her down with her bad arm and starts twisting. Even injured she inflicts enough pain to make the man howl and crumple to the ground.

"Shit!" the man screams. Sarah reaches for the second paramedic planning to upend him as well, but he drops his knee onto her chest, pinning her down.

"Ma'am, calm down!" For the second time today, Sarah feels a pin prick in her neck.

"Damn it," she mumbles. She feels another poke in the other arm...and quite unwillingly...she falls back into the darkness.

* * *

_Sarah wakes from the pain. She feels as if she's floating above her body, like her soul has been ripped out and the two halves will never again come together. Like someone's hollowed her out with a rusty knife. _

_When conscious thought returns to her, she rationalizes it's just the trauma and the morphine sending all these mixed messages. _

_Drugs. _

_She doesn't want any drugs but Sarah realizes, at the end of the day, it really doesn't matter anymore. She'll take anything if only it will take away the pain. _

_It was a stupid thing to do. _

_She hurts all over but it's the morphine that's made her cold and empty. _

_Because she doesn't want to think about the other explanation. _

_Or the reality of such an existence. _

"_Sarah?" _

_Sarah shifts her gaze and suddenly his beautiful face comes into view. _

"_Chuck..." she whispers and tries to lift a leaden arm to reach him. He grips her hand in a death vice, and the warm strength of his hold makes her feel alive again. _

"_Oh God, I'm so sorry." His face contorts into anguish and she wishes he wouldn't do that. Doesn't he know the sight will only break her heart and she's broken enough as is?_

"_Don't be," she croaks. Hospitals are nothing new for her. She's done this a hundred times, she wants to say. _

_Tears are a rarity for either of them, and she begs him silently to stop before she loses control and joins him in this embarrassing foray. _

_Chuck leans in towards her, still clutching her hand, and uses the other to gently stroke her face. _

"_I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." _

"_No." She can't muster the strength to say everything she wants to say, so she sticks to the most important things. "It's not. You did the right thing." _

"_I shouldn't have told you about my flash." _

_Sarah's eyes begin to sting, and she's so tired. She's so tired of the arguments, and the guilt that weighs on them both. _

_This isn't working. _

_The pain intensifies and she's so exhausted from fighting this uphill battle that she just wants to raise a white flag. _

_So she thought she could have it all and she was wrong. _

There. Happy?

_What could she say? They'd really tried to make it work. _

_She wishes Chuck would just hold her and let her suffer in silent dignity instead of like this. _

"_It's my fault. I should have gotten the update." He shakes his head. "It was old information...you shouldn't have trusted me." _

_Chuck lets go of her and even though there's no trace of tears on his face, she can see he's only holding himself together for her sake. _

_Sarah sees right through him and suddenly all the morphine in the drip isn't enough to take the pain away. _

_Her fingers, each of which now feel like ten pounds weights, inch towards his but the distance is still too far. It was hopeless. _

"_Chuck..." she begs. _Come back to me. Please, come back to me.

"_I shouldn't have told you," he utters, still horrified with himself. "I need to call the Director." _

"_No!" Sarah uses all the strength she has left to reach out to him. He takes her hand gladly, and hangs onto it like a lifeline. "It's not your life anymore." _

_Chuck clamps down on his tongue. He strokes her hair, the warmth in his eyes drowned out by all the unshed tears. _

_It could be. She realizes he'd be willing to do anything for her. _

_But he's already made a choice, and so has she. _

"_Don't. It's okay," she whispers, holding his hand close to her heart. _

_At least she still has him. _

_Chuck strokes the side of her face with his finger-tips; it's as if he's afraid she'll fall apart at his touch. "We can try again. Start over." _

_Sarah nods but she doesn't really believe it. _

_No matter what they say, the guilt will never wash away. _

_She can't give it up, but she can't give him up either. _

_Sarah looks sadly into his eyes and there's a silent understanding that passes between them. _

_No matter what they do, they're never going to win. _

_

* * *

_

Sarah hates not knowing where she is when she wakes up. It's not a foreign experience, but no matter how many times she's been through it all, it still makes her skin crawl every time. The prospect of waking in a strange place fills Sarah with dread, so even when she begins to feel the sedatives lose their pull, even when she realizes she's climbed back out of the darkness, she doesn't open her eyes.

She tests the bounds on her feet, preparing to run again, only to realize the movement is only lightly restricted.

It's so quiet here. So soft, so warm...it's unlike any place she's ever been—except in her dreams.

_Oh God._ Sarah's eyes flicker open and she stares at the blank ceiling above her.

_This is heaven. _She's finally gone and died.

Strangely enough the realization fills her with relief.

"Sarah?"

Sarah's heart lurches at the voice. _Chuck?_

_Oh God. Chuck's dead too? _

She doesn't realize she's whimpering until she hears Chuck's soothing voice, trying to calm her.

"It's okay, you're okay," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed and leans down towards her, stroking her hair over and over again. "You're okay, Sarah."

"_Crap_…I'm alive?" she asks.

"Of course." Chuck continues to stroke her hair, his body warning the edge of the bed next to her.

_Nope, I'm pretty sure this is still heaven_

"What about you?" she asks. She grabs his hand and holds onto it, refusing to let him slip away from her again.

Chuck stares at her, stunned, and just when she thinks he's about to burst into tears, he laughs instead.

"Me?" he teases, gently caressing her cheeks. "I wasn't the one buried underneath all that rubble."

The reminder breaks the tender moment; everything comes rushing back into perspective. Chuck's smile falls and when she truly has a good look at him, it sickens her how exhausted he appears. It's as if he has two black eyes instead of one.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "This is all my fault."

"Chuck, I'm fine—"

"I don't know what I would have done if—"

The answer was simple. He would have done something stupid. They both know it so there's no point talking about it.

"Chuck." She tries to lift her arm from under the comforter but it's too much. She winces in pain and clutches her shoulder, rolling onto her side. Chuck's hand covers hers and he eases her back into bed.

"The doctor said you dislocated it. They've set it back but it'll be sore for awhile."

She manages a weak laugh. That and every other part of her. She wonders if she has any parts that aren't bruised.

She looks to the door and half-expects the doctor to be standing there, waiting to destroy the moment, but the only person in the room with her is Chuck.

And perhaps if weren't still under the influence of who knows what she would have realized it was because she was not, in fact, in a hospital.

"How did I get here?" she asks.

Chuck smiles, his hands never once leaving some part of her. Whether he was brushing stray strands of hair aside or holding her hand, the connection was always there.

"I carried you," he says. "This is the second time in two days, Sarah. I'd prefer it next time if you were awake." In light of what they've gone through, he still has a wry sense of humour.

Sarah remains humorless however. What's happened was no laughing matter and she still doesn't know how Chuck could have gotten himself mixed up in all this.

What did those people want from him?

Who was Simon?

And more importantly, how did Chuck know where she was?

He seems to read her mind because he answers her last thought almost as soon as she's made the silent query. "I got the call; turns out I'm still your next of kin." When he says it, he sounds surprised.

"Who else?" she murmurs, and had she the strength, she would have knocked some sense into his head. "You are my husband."

Chuck nods solemnly. "The doctor said you didn't suffer any serious harm. I thought you would be more comfortable back here."

She eyes him curiously. "They...let you do that?"

"No," he confesses with a shy grin. "But it's amazing what the power of money can do. ..."

"You bribed them?" Sarah asks in shock. How very un-Chuck.

"Well some…I had to make a rather large donation to the hospital to smooth things over. I think there might be a 'Sarah Bartowski' ward the next time you go back…"

"Chuck!"

Chuck just shrugs. "It's a small price to pay. I don't think it would be a good plan if your picture somehow landed on the evening news. I don't have the connections to smooth things over like the CIA. I use what I have."

"So no one knows?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No one. You'll have to think of a convincing story for your shoulder though. Oh and there's a giant hole in the industrial district downtown. That might take some explaining."

The news ought to fill Sarah with joy but the only thing she truly feels is how exhausted she truly is. She uses what strength she has left to fix him with a smile but it pales in comparison to what he deserves.

Even after everything, he's still giving her everything he has.

"You're tired. The doctors said the drugs wouldn't wear off until tomorrow."

Sarah grunts. _Then they didn't know her very well._

She's put herself through worse and her drug tolerance was higher than average, but the warm, soft bed couldn't have been more tempting.

"I'm going to let you rest," Chuck says. He graces her with a kiss on the forehead and gets up to leave.

"Chuck?" She latches onto his hand before it leaves the bed, and instantly he's down at her bedside, hovering over her.

"Yeah? What's wrong? Do you need something?" Perhaps it was the medication, perhaps it was the hysterics of this long day, but Sarah never thought she'd live to see Chuck look at her this way again.

Has he forgotten all the terrible things she's done?

Has he lost his mind?

"No," she says, struggling to find her breath. The pain in her arm paled in comparison to the pain clawing through to her heart.

"Will you stay with me?" She didn't deserve him, but that's all irrelevant. He's here now. "Just until I fall asleep?"

The worry lines on Chuck's face ease and he nods, tucking the comforter snugly over her.

"I'll be right here," he promises, gazing at her with a sad expression. "So you can close your eyes."

She doesn't want to, but she doesn't have a choice. She wants to hold his hand, but her arm is trapped under the comforter and she's too tired to fight anymore.

"I'll be right here," she hears him say, his voice fading as she drifts deeper into the darkness.

And just before she falls completely under, she realizes she hasn't saved him at all, she's only made him wait for her all over again.


	27. Tuesday B VI

_A/N: So i posted...and then i realized FF wasn't cooperating with me and allowing me to save the changes i'd made and i had somewhere to go so i removed it for fixing later. Well, i've finally fixed things but i'll bet everyone is asleep. Sorry for the temporary disappointment. _

_Thanks as always to **Altonish** who had to help me big time to sound smart and knowledgeable. He's the voice of Chuck here, not me. _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 27: **_  
_

Sarah wakes to find herself alone in the master bedroom, but Chuck's voice isn't far off.

"No, she's asleep..." she hears him say. She cranes her neck towards the closed door where she catches the light flicker as he passes by outside in the hall.

"I already told you, she's resting," he says in a firmer tone.

Sarah's sight and senses were still fuzzy on the cocktail of prescription medications but she manages to peel back the sheets and stand on her own two feet.

She sucks in a deep breath to keep from crying out in pain, but breathing hurts just as much when she's upright; she's in sad shape.

It takes her a second for the initial head-rush to clear and before she's sure she can make it to the door without falling over, but she gets there.

"Well she's had a lot on her plate today, so how about we give her a break, huh?" Chuck says, his tone becoming brittle. It's not like him to raise his voice; even when they fought, he always managed to keep a level tone.

"Look, buddy, _I _don't work for you and I don't give a crap how shiny your title is."

"Oh really? Really?"

"How about I call Senator Watkins, I was the third largest contributor to his campaign last election. I wonder how he'd take to you harassing my _wife_!"

"I don't really give a damn! If you cared that much what happened to her, you wouldn't send her here without any freaking backup!"

There was a brief lapse of deadly silence, then Chuck growls. "If you value your job, don't call back here again."

Sarah claws her way down to the living room just in time to see Chuck send her cell phone crashing into the wall.

"Chuck!" Sarah cries as she watches her phone disintegrate into a pile of circuits

"Sarah!" he blurts, sheepishly hiding the evidence behind his back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Who was that on the phone?" she asks.

"Um..." Chuck doesn't really need to say anything; his sudden inability to look her straight in the eye says it all. "Sorry, it just kept ringing and— I'll uh…I'll buy you a new one."

Sarah raises an eyebrow and Chuck sheepishly collects the little bits of phone littering the living room.

"You should get some rest, Sarah," he says, gently guiding her back up the stairs. "You've been through a lot, and you can call your boss tomorrow. I sort of already told him off. I don't think he'll be expecting your call for a while anyway."

Sarah smiles wryly as he tucks her back in bed. "My nerd in shining armour," she murmurs drowsily.

Chuck smiles back but his expression grows melancholy again when he strokes her tenderly along the cheek.

"I'll be right outside." He waits for her to say something but she's too tired. "You'll call me if you need anything, right?"

Sarah nods briefly and for a second she nearly asks him why he won't just share the other half of the bed with her. But it's too much and even in her drugged-induced state, she knows better.

_

Sarah wakes a short while later and true to his word there's an exact replica of her phone on the nightstand with her SIM card and everything. The only difference is that the ringer is switched to 'off'.

She's tempted to let it go until morning but she knows she shouldn't hide behind Chuck's threats. She doesn't need to get him into anymore trouble.

The Director picks up after not even a full ring-tone and this time all niceties are thrown out the window.

"Agent Walker, I've just been filling out your termination order, do you want to explain to me what the hell happened today and see if you can talk me out of it?"

Sarah gulps and buries herself under the comforters, searching for a way to hide from this misery. Perhaps Chuck was right; perhaps this call could have waited until the morning.

"I sent you out there to investigate, not to blow up half of Los Angeles County."

"It wasn't _that_ big of an explosion—"

"You're walking a fine line, Agent Walker," he warns. Sarah knows he's right; she's using the same excuses she's used to explain all her other misdemeanours. "I don't think I can trust you with even a simple investigation."

"I had the situation under control; I've got a lead."

"Oh?" The Director sounds genuinely surprised, as if he honestly thought she'd blown up half the building on a whim.

"I've got a lead on the intel. I know where it is."

"Really. Enlighten me."

Sarah gnaws on her lips, just realizing that she's shot herself in the foot. Despite the obligations to an organization that's practically raised and groomed her to be one of them, she can't turn Chuck in without an explanation.

"I'll have to do some further investigation to ascertain the exact location, Sir, but I will get to the bottom of this."

"So you have nothing."

"These people are way more dangerous than we thought, Sir. They're well equipped and they have a ton of personnel. I didn't expect the explosion to be quite as big as it was, but you need to have a clean up crew search the facility. They had weapons, vehicles, a small army of men…"

"It's already done, Agent Walker, but you didn't leave us much to work with."

"There was a man, I'm not sure of his nationality. He needs to be identified…"

"We haven't found anyone in the rubble. I'll let you know if we find anything else.

"I expect the intel on my desk by the end of the week, Agent Walker. If you don't have it with you, don't bother coming back." Sarah gulps."I will get you what you need, Sir."

The Director hangs up and she sighs. She has no idea how she's going to do this without implicating Chuck, but she's damn sure going to try.

_

Sarah takes a deep breath in anticipation of all the pain she's willingly throwing herself into. Her feet, still tender from running in concrete and scrap metal, scream for her to stop but she grits her teeth and presses forwards.

She has no idea why Chuck insists on sleeping downstairs when there's a perfectly suitable bed in the guest bedroom.

_The room where you've left all your things? _

_In the bed you've slept in? _

The descent is arduous and by the time she finally gets into the living room, Chuck is already waiting for her with his hands folded in his lap. Like a schoolboy about to receive his reprimand, he can barely lift his eyes to meet hers.

She's filled with a small sense of relief. At least he's not going to avoid her, because at this point, she doesn't think she has the strength to chase him down.

"Who's Simon?" she asks, sitting down beside him.

Chuck's brows furrow in confusion. "Who?"

"_Simon,_" she repeats.

Chuck shakes his head. "I don't know who that is."

"Chuck." This was not the time for games. "I heard them talk over the phone. They wanted you to give them Simon."

He stares at her like a deer in headlights; then, slowly, he sinks back into the couch, the realization hitting him all at once.

"Simian," he says.

"What?"

"S-I-M-I-A-N," he repeats. When Sarah stares blankly back at him, he has no choice but to elaborate. "Search Index Matrix Information ANalyst. It's something I developed on the side."

"What does it do?"

"It's a web crawler." Chuck backtracks, "I mean...that's what it started out as."

"And how long have you been working on it?"

He shrugs. "Six-seven years?"

Sarah's eyes widen. She's thankful she's seated on the couch otherwise she would have fallen over from the shock.

"But I was there—" Had he done this behind her back, or had she just been too oblivious to see what was going on?

"Well, it _started_ as a web-crawler. I made it back when I was trying to find my dad for Ellie's wedding. "

His eyes drop to the ground and Sarah's squeezes his hand gently. They both know how fruitful that had been.

"So the program didn't work..." she suggests, giving him the opportunity to fill in the rest.

He nods. "Not at first. I mean it did work, but it couldn't find my dad. I kept tweaking the original design. I worked on it whenever I had the time or whenever I was really depressed and..." Chuck hesitates, but he says it anyway. They've thankfully reached the point where they can be 'friends' about all this. "I've been depressed a lot the last couple of years. "

Instead of letting go, Chuck only squeezes her hand harder. "I optimized the searches and just kept playing around with it. Things first started getting out of hand when I added a bit of code that allowed it to anticipate and make chances to it's strategy. Then I taught it how to hack network security protocols….

"It found my father within a matter of days."

"Oh, Chuck!" Sarah's caught up by the revelation that she forgets the real matter at hand. "That's wonderful—"

"Well..." Chuck shrugs and all signs seem to indicate their reunion left more to be desired. "That's not really the point. The thing was it became incredibly good at adapting and expanding. There are bits of code…that I didn't write in the matrix engine. I mean…I know where it got some of them, but it knows how to do things I didn't teach it. That sounds crazy I know, but it's picking up code fragments of the internet and inserting them into it's processing routines. It's still like ninety percent my code, but it's…it's almost like it has a personality. ." Chuck blushed in the dim light. "I sound like some stupid SciFi movie, I know. It's just a program, I don't let it run on it's own anymore but, Sarah, the thing can think."

"SIMIAN," she utters. She has no choice but to smile at the acronym. "Very clever."

Chuck allows himself a brief smile of accomplishment before the expression falls.

"Well, SIMIAN became so good at finding information I became concerned with the ethics of the project. It was a clever piece of technology but it didn't have any scruples. It didn't understand laws and it certainly didn't respect them. I really didn't approve of the things it did to complete its searches. That's all it cares about, finding information. It's heartless, it just keeps digging without any regard for who gets hurt."

"You placed the anonymous call...didn't you?" Sarah could see now why Chuck's program would be considered such an important piece of intelligence. "Chuck! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well I didn't think it was a big deal until yesterday," he says. "And _you_ didn't tell me anything about why you were here. And the folks in DC said they'd send someone to look into it—it could have been anyone."

Chuck was babbling again and when Sarah looks carefully into his eyes, she sees a reason he hasn't spoken aloud.

_I was hoping you'd returned for me. _

"Were you trying to sell it?"

"No!" He looked horrified to even be implicated in the matter. "No, Hawkins found an older version of the program on the shared network."

Sarah growled. It always came back to Hawkins.

"It wasn't a big deal at first. He was impressed by it and it was an older version, so I didn't really mind. But then he started talking to me about investors and people being interested in it.

"Which wasn't concerning either. I assumed they just wanted to do some data mining on the internet, but then they asked Hawkins for SIMIAN 3.0. " Sarah doesn't see the problem until Chuck explains: "No one knows about the most current copy of my program. At least nobody should know. I haven't told anyone."

He shakes his head. "So I told Hawkins I wasn't going to sell it, but whatever they're offering must be huge because—"

"That day—" Sarah reaches over but her fingers stop short at the unhealed marks on Chuck's face. "Was that what it was about?"

"More or less," he replies. "We did argue about Tropic of Cancer too, to a lesser extent.

"I told Hawkins I'd destroyed all the copies, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't believe me."

Sarah didn't buy it either. "You still have a copy?"

Chuck nods. "Just one. Even if Hawkins got his hands on it, he'll never be able to break the lock on it. He knows that, which is probably why they took you."

"Who are they?" Sarah reaches for her cell. "We'll end this thing tonight."

"I don't know." Chuck shrugs. "I've never met any of them."

"Then let's go get Hawkins." The prospect of her fist meeting the slime-ball's face thrilled her in a way that she could never confess to Chuck.

"I don't think he knows either. I mean he's upset, but the deal was handled through intermediaries. What Hawkins knows is the giant check the company was supposed to get isn't coming."

_Well this is just great. _Sarah sank into the couch, fast running out of options.

"What about Kipling? How does he figure into all this?"

Chuck shrugs. "I don't know. He and Hawkins are friends. I think they spent quite a bit of time together when we hired Kipling to do some work for us last year. " He pauses to think over the connection. "We should call the police."

"What would that accomplish?" Sarah asks. "Other than making us answer a lot of question neither of us wants to discuss." Chuck frown and Sarah wants to laugh. "I'm better than the police, Chuck. If you'll help me, I'll get to the bottom of this."

That doesn't seem to reach Chuck's mind much and it bothers her that he's lost so much faith in her. "What are we going to do?"

"We should go to the convention tomorrow. We have to find the buyers."

He shakes his head. "There's nothing of consequence going on until Thursday."

"What? Why not?"

Rather than explain himself, Chuck digs through the mountain of unread magazines sitting on the coffee table and pulls out a small white envelope addressed to them both in fine calligraphy.

"One of the big wigs, W. W. Wielding is getting married tomorrow. The whole day's been blocked off. His wife is a piece of work; she's not satisfied unless she knows the entire world is watching."

Sarah stares at the lace-silhouetted card. She already knows what this means but she feels like she still has to ask.

"I didn't RSVP because I never thought you and I...but..."

"We'll have to crash this wedding," she says, sparing Chuck from the awkwardness. She looks at Chuck and it's impossible for her to keep a straight face.

They looked awful.

Chuck smiles too. "We don't have to crash. The press will love that I'll be there so naturally the bride will approve. I'll give them a call in the morning."

Sarah nods, suppressing a sigh. _Sounds like fun. _

* * *

.

_And that's the end of "Tuesday". See you on "Wednesday" =)  
_


	28. Wednesday B I

_A/N: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack and it's Wednesday....what do we have in store for our couple today? _

_And thanks **Altonish** for adding to the crazy. I do appreciate it. =)_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 28:**_  
_

The morning gets off to a slow start. Sarah only sleeps a handful of hours but it's surprisingly late when she finally opens her eyes. More surprising still is the fact Chuck looks as if he's only just rolled off the couch when she finally goes downstairs.

He doesn't look like he slept any better than she did.

"How's the arm?" he mumbles as they meet up on the way to the kitchen.

"Sore." She flexes the knuckles on the offending limb and winces. "How's the eye?"

He twitches his cheek to test out the bruise and winces too. "Sore. You've got one too you know." Chuck reaches out and brushes his thumb just below her eye and she feels a slight welling of pain.

She sighs. "Occupational hazard."

They smile despite the fact they've seen better days. Strange as it sounds, for the first time since her return, things finally feel _normal._ For the first time in half a decade, the Sarah and Chuck that once were are in a room together.

It's an odd feeling.

Only this isn't normal anymore, and she's deluding herself if she thinks ripping her heart out when she leaves will hurt any less than it did the first time.

She shakes away the thought and forces a smile. _There'll be plenty of time to regret your decisions later, _she scolds herself.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"Don't you mean lunch?" she asks with a sad smile.

He smiles back and is about to give a smart response when the moment is broken by a knock at the door.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

He shakes his head and prepares to see who it is.

"I'll go check it," Sarah says. It's her obligation to see that he's safe; her job in fact, but it's not why she heads off Chuck for the door. Because deep down, she's always struggled with separating her heart from her sense of duty and this was no different.

"No, Sarah—"

Sarah pushes him back before he can think of getting to the door before her. And just to make sure he doesn't think twice, she blocks his path with her bad arm. If he wants to get past her; he'll have to hurt her and despite everything that's happened, she knows he won't.

"Take care of breakfast and I'll take care of whoever is at the door."

He looks dubious but Sarah's eyes leave no room for any sort of negotiation.

_To the kitchen. Now. _

Chuck gives her a slightly defeated look and relents but she catches him looking over his shoulder as he disappears around the corner. The doorbell rings again, and Sarah walks forward cautiously on the balls of her feet, careful not to make her presence known.

Reaching for the doorknob with her bad arm, she uses the other to reach behind for a well-concealed knife. Counting silently in her head to three, she yanks the door open.

The sight makes Sarah yelp. "Ellie!" she exclaims, hastily slipping the knife back in its sheath. She readjusts her shirt and leans against the doorway, unsure how to handle herself. An assailant—no problem but her sister-in-law?

Ellie looks just as horrified. "Oh my God, Sarah!" She hands the casserole dish over and barrels past her. Sarah's no match for the heavily pregnant woman and before she even realizes what's happened, Ellie is already inside the house.

"What the hell happened?" Ellie grabs her by the arm, trying to get a better look at her wounds.

Honestly, she didn't think she looked _that_ bad. There was some gauze taped over the cuts on her ear and the side of her forehead, and her nose was still a bit tender from the fall but aside from that, it wasn't anything a bottle of CIA-issued concealer couldn't fix.

Sarah rests the casserole dish on the nearest flat surface and hastily tries to rearrange her hair in an attempt to hide the bruises.

"Sarah!" Ellie exclaims, tugging on her arm. Unfortunately it's Sarah's bad arm and the extra force makes her cringe and pull away.

Nothing is lost under the doctor's scrutinizing gaze. "What happened to your arm? Did you break it? Have you gotten an x-ray?"

"I'm fine, Ellie!" Sarah explains. "I've just been discharged from the hospital. The doctor said I was fine."

The answer wasn't good enough for her though. "What the hell happened?" she demands again.

Sarah says the first thing she thinks of. "I fell."

It's technically true and Sarah's surprised she couldn't think of anything better.

Ellie narrows her eyes and her lips press into a grim expression but thankfully she seems to accept it.

"You should have called us. I would have come to the hospital! Do you think those shiny papers on the wall are just to impress the neighbours? We're doctors and your family and when you're injured you're supposed to let us take care of you!" Ellie's working herself into a froth and Sarah knows it can't be good for the baby."

She winces and it has nothing to do with her injuries. "I'm sorry, Ellie, we didn't want you to worry." She briefly brushes her hand over the woman's belly. "It wouldn't be good for you in your condition."

Ellie scoffs, rubbing the prominent bump. "Do you have any idea what I saw when I was overseas?" She grabs Sarah's good hand and squeezes it firmly; a warning. "If anything happens again, you have to let me know—no excuses. I don't care if you're halfway around the world, you still have to let me know these things. Do you understand?"

Like a child who's just been reprimanded, she stares down at the carpet and nods obediently.

"Chuck!" Ellie shouts at the top of her lungs and with Sarah's tinnitus the sound nearly knocks her over. "Why didn't he call me?" Ellie exclaims, giving her a withering glare. "Sometimes I think he's got no sense at all."

"Chuck's uh…"

Sarah tries to think of a good lie, any lie, just something!

It's too late.

Ellie's waddling for the kitchen and there's no stopping her now. Her eyes take in the rumpled pillow and blanket strewn over the floor next to the couch. Sarah doesn't think the woman's voice can get louder but then...

"_Charles Irving Bartowski_!"

The women enter the kitchen just as it appears Chuck's prepared to sneak out.

"Chuck!" his sister admonishes.

Caught in the act, the man has no choice but to stand still.

"Oh my God! Chuck, what the hell happened to you?"

An optimist would say it's lucky Ellie didn't visit a day earlier and a pessimist would say it was rotten luck to have Ellie visit at all.

Chuck swallows nervously and looks to Sarah for help. It's hopeless though, nothing ever gets by Ellie.

"I fell," he says.

"You fell," Ellie repeats, crossing her arms. She looks to Sarah and then to Chuck and then back at Sarah…not in the least convinced.

Then she hears the woman growl. Sarah doesn't know where the sound is coming from, but she's sure small animals a square block around the condo are fleeing for their lives.

Sarah's unsure of the cause but then she follows Ellie's line of vision and she feels herself drown in misery. Sunday's mess is still sitting on the counter—the excess of empty bottles seem to tell a story all on its own.

"Oh...Ellie...it's not—" She's cut off by the murderous glare of her sister-in-law. Meekly she stands in line with Chuck, their hands and their eyes permanently fixed on the hardwood floor while they waited for their sentence.

"Chuck," Ellie says in a remarkably calm voice. "I need to speak with Sarah _alone_."

"It's not what you think," Chuck starts.

"Chuck, out now!"

Ellie grabs Sarah's hand and yanks her towards the stairs.

Sarah takes a deep breath. _Damn it. _

"Ellie, it was an accident—"

"Chuck—" Ellie holds out her hand and shushes her brother before he can think of coming up with a more elaborate lie. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"But Ellie," Chuck's voice trails off and he hangs his head, guilt is written all over him. Sarah feels terrible. This is all her fault.

Without allowing for any more interjections Ellie drags Sarah towards the stairs. Sarah looks over her shoulder, pleading Chuck to help her.

It's a lost cause though and they both know it.

Ellie's just seconds from discovering the terrible truth and neither of them can do anything to stop her.

.

Taking all the necessary precautions, Ellie drags Sarah up the stairs, taking several glances over her shoulder to make sure Chuck isn't following behind. The brunette stops at the top, a few steps into narrow hallway, and takes one last look over her shoulder. They're completely alone, and Sarah's completely trapped.

"Ellie—"

"No, Sarah, I need to know the truth. What's really going on here?" Ellie's face is rife with concern as she attempts to examine each and every one of Sarah's cuts and bruises. Sarah shies away from the impending interrogation, covering up as much as she can with her long hair.

"Sarah. I know I'm Chuck's sister, but you don't have to be afraid to tell me things." She takes Sarah's hand and squeezes it with meaning.

"Of course. I know that," she says.

Ellie looks at her expectantly. "_Anything_," she emphasizes.

Sarah nods. "I know, Ellie," she says with a smile. "You've been like the older sister I never had."

Ellie sighs and despite all of Sarah's efforts, she's still not satisfied with the answer. "Sarah, I've worked in the emergency room. I've worked in countries where this kind of treatment is considered acceptable. It's not okay. I never thought…" Ellie's voice trails off but she can't bring herself to say more.

"Chuck didn't do this." Sarah insists.

"You don't have to protect him, Sarah. There is no excuse for this kind of behaviour," Ellie insists. Done with all the subtleties she asks, "Did he hurt you? I don't care if he's my brother; I will _murder_ him."

It's a frightening thought when Sarah sees no trace of humour in the woman's deep green eyes. She's completely serious about making good on the threat to her beloved baby-brother.

"No!" Sarah clasps her hands over the woman's belly. "How can you think that? It's Chuck! He would never hurt me. I know it looks bad, but please don't think like that, Ellie, it's not good for the baby."

Ellie swipes her hands away. "Enough about the baby; we're fine. You know who's not—you."

Sarah sighs. "We did fall down the stairs," she confesses, lying through her teeth. "I tripped and Chuck saw that I was going to fall so he tried to catch me. You know him, he's not the most agile person out there and we kind of fell down together." Sarah shrugs, trying not to wince at the bothersome shoulder. "It's nothing like you think, Ellie. Your brother broke my fall. He saved me...he's my hero."

Under normal circumstances it would have been enough to make Ellie smile but this time around the look of disapproval and suspicion seems to have taken root and flourished.

Ellie looks past her into the first room past the stairs.

"Sarah..._why_ are your things in the guest bedroom?"

Sarah feels as if all the blood in her body has just screeched to a halt and curdled in her veins. The panic of having to concoct only more lies sends her body into a paralyzed state of shock.

There's no escape. It's like nothing she does will ever make this better.

_You are a train wreck; what's another few casualties? _

Ellie walks past her and into the open guest bedroom. When Sarah's remembered how to breathe and walk at the same time, she follows after.

Sure enough, it's her suitcase lying open on the ground and her things strewn on the dresser.

Ellie spins around, her warm features quickly twisting into something rivalling horror and anguish. "Why's Chuck sleeping on the couch? What's going on here, Sarah?" Before Sarah can think of answering, the woman raises her hand and stops her. "Don't lie. You know who lies to doctors? Battered wives and abusive husbands, that's who. I'm not stupid. I've seen this all before—the bottles, the bruises, the cover-ups. They promise it'll never happen again…" Ellie trails off. "Damn it, I taught him better than this!"

Sarah gulps. She takes a step back, towards the door—

_Always so eager to run, aren't you?_

Ellie takes a giant stride forward and grabs her wrist, halting her retreat. "Sarah! Answer me!" she demands, any hint of sentiment wiped from her features. "This isn't going away; you have to talk to me."

Sarah licks her chapped lips. The truth is so blatant it's practically screaming at them but she's promised Chuck she wouldn't say anything; not until after the baby's born.

She considers telling another lie but she's running out of options.

So instead, she takes the easy way out.

"Chuck!" she yells, hoping the man's lanky frame will be put to good use. He should be here within seconds if he runs and takes the stairs three at a time.

Ellie's not satisfied with the response though and scours the room with her eyes, searching for clues. She doesn't have to look very far, especially not when the evidence is sitting out in the open, right on the nightstand table.

"Sarah..." Ellie grabs the sheaf of papers before Sarah can think of leaping over the bed to hide the evidence. "What is this?"

"Um..."

The look of shock on the brunette's face was evidence enough that she knew exactly what she was holding in her hands.

"Oh my God!" Ellie utters, clasping a hand firmly over her mouth. Then her expression changes and she winces, the other hand clutching her belly.

"Oh my God!" Sarah echoes, sprinting to her side. She holds the woman gently by the arm and eases her onto the unmade bed, all the while silently praying that she could take back the last fifteen minutes and do this over again.

She'll get rid of the evidence, she'll think of better lies...just anything, so long as Ellie and the baby are okay. Chuck was right; Ellie wasn't ready for the truth.

"Elle? What's wrong?"

Chuck runs into the room and sinks down to the ground beside Sarah. The brunette has the two of them literally on their knees.

"Do you want me to call 9-1-1?" he asks. "Are you in pain?"

Ellie takes a deep breath, her lips quivering as she struggles to keep her composure. "What's this?" she asks, holding up the papers. "A divorce?"

It's a redundant question, but still Sarah can't find the means to just come out and say it.

She wasn't ready either.

"No! No, of course not!" Chuck says, frantically trying to rub his sister's shoulders and soothe her. "Sarah and I aren't getting a divorce."

Sarah turns to look at him, her jaws on the brink of unhinging and dropping to the ground.

"We're not?" she utters, though in her state of shock it comes out more like a reiteration of Chuck's dismissal than a question.

Chuck turns to her, his eyes dark and conflicted. It's as if he's said the words without thinking and only just now realized the lie.

He swallows hard and says it again, standing by his earlier resolve.

"No. We're not getting a divorce, Elle."

Ellie waves the papers in front of them. "Don't lie to me!" she exclaims. "It's all right here!"

"But look at the date! It's from five years ago," Chuck explains, snatching the papers from her and pointing to a line on the page. "Sarah and I were just cleaning some stuff out and we found this in one of the drawers."

For the first time, Ellie seems to have calmed herself long enough to hear him out. She glances at the first page again. "Okay why _were _you getting a divorce?" she demands.

Chuck sighs and rubs Ellie's back, the struggle evident on his face. "Look Elle, I can't deny we've had some problems. I didn't want to leave LA and we were fighting..."

"You don't get divorced just because of a disagreement!"

"We aren't!" Chuck replies defensively. "Things were bad, but I promise we aren't getting a divorce." Sarah eyes lock onto Chuck. He isn't looking her way, but his words sound so sincere, so convincing.

"But why is Sarah sleeping here instead of the—"

"Painting! We hired painters to redo the master bedroom and they didn't finish last week like they were supposed to. The fumes were just too much so we switched rooms."

Sarah gaped in silent admiration. She had no idea Chuck had it in him to lie on the spot.

_He learned from the best, did he not? _

"Well, why are you sleeping on the couch—"

"He snores." Sarah jumps back into this familiar game and she sees that Chuck's all-too-willing to have her join him. "And I move around a lot when I sleep. And we've been so exhausted with all the events and functions we've been attending, that we thought it would be better if we both got a good night's sleep."

Ellie sinks down into the mattress, temporarily dissuaded of her worst fears.

"You guys aren't getting a divorce?" she asks, with worry lines still carved into her forehead. "Be honest with me. Someone tell me the truth."

Sarah sighs and beside her, she senses Chuck hesitate as well.

"We're not getting a divorce, Ellie. Relax, okay? All this anxiety isn't good for the baby."

Ellie looks suspiciously between the two of them, but her face begins to soften. "And you really fell down the stairs?"

Chuck nods vigorously.

"Really?" she exclaims. "Oh thank God!" She puts a hand over her heart and sighs in relief. "I wouldn't know what to do if anything happened to the two of you. I love you both so much, and I just know that you two are meant to be together."

Chuck finds the courage to smile but it's too much for Sarah. She looks down at the ground and begs for all this to be put behind them.

"Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" Chuck asks. First and foremost, he still puts everyone else's needs ahead of his own.

Ellie winces a little but she nods her head. "Of course I'm okay, I'm about as good as any expectant mother can be. Are you guys okay?"

Sarah looks to Chuck and Chuck turns to meet her gaze. A silent truce passes between them.

"Yeah. We're okay."

Sarah's heart is in turmoil. She no longer knows what's true and what isn't.

"Alright then," Ellie sighs, "Take off your shirt."

Sarah blinks. The woman was talking to her. "What?"

"I want to examine you; you've had a bad fall and even if they let you out of the hospital it would be a good idea for your injuries to be examined after the swelling has gone down."

"Oh, I'm fine," Sarah insists. "You don't need to do that."

"I'm sorry," Ellie says. "Did you graduate from a medical school?"

"No, but..." Sarah looks to Chuck for help, but her co-conspirator is planning his own escape.

"I'm just going to go back downstairs," Chuck announces.

"Don't be silly," Ellie admonishes. "You can stay. Now come on, Sarah, here let me help." Elle reaches for the hem of Sarah's shirt and Sarah scoots away.

"Ellie, really, I'm fine."

"I'm not leaving until I give you an examination," Ellie insists and crosses her arms over her protruding belly.

"Chuck," Sarah begs.

Chuck shrugs. "You know, it couldn't hurt..."

Sarah's eyes go wide at her husband's betrayal. He's going to pay for this.

Sarah sighs in defeat. She reaches for the hem of her shirt and starts to pull it off.

"Thanks, Elle. Looks like you two have everything under control." Chuck makes a hasty retreat and shuts the door behind him.

Ellie huffs, "You know for a hero, he's such a wimp sometimes."


	29. Wednesday B II

**Chapter 29: **

It takes awhile to chase Ellie out of the condo. It's clear she's still suspicious of Chuck and Sarah but as she's no longer able to find any more fissures in their cover story, she has no choice but to relent.

After several promises of a dinner date with her and Devon sometime in the near future, Ellie is satisfied and finally leaves the premises—leaving Sarah and Chuck barely enough time to get ready for the wedding.

It takes some work, but Sarah eventually manages to mask the evidence of the previous day. As she looks herself over in the mirror, she concedes that she couldn't have hoped for better. At the very worst, she'll look a little more haggard than she used to and if she's lucky, her state of appearance will go unnoticed.

She takes out the most conservative dress she brought with her and covers her arms with a sweater just in case. She already knows the wives will disapprove of her lack of fashion sense but she still figures it's better than accidentally revealing a bruise or two...or three.

Chuck gives her an appreciative lookover nevertheless when she declares herself ready to go.

"Wow."

Sarah shrugs, hoping she doesn't give everything away with the telltale blush creeping up to her cheeks.

"Wow what?"

Chuck shrugs, adding to the failing nonchalance. "You look really good…for someone who took a ride through a meat grinder yesterday."

Sarah can't help but smile at that. He doesn't look half bad himself.

"Thanks. I'm good at cover-ups—at least when your sister isn't involved."

Chuck gives her a grim grin in agreement. "She's impossible, isn't she?"

"I'm sorry she thought the worst in you."

He shrugs it off but it's undeniable that the truth hurts. "I've been lying to her pretty much every time I've spoken to her in the last decade. I think I probably deserve the worst."

Sarah sighs. "You deserve so much more; you only seem to get the worst."

Chuck waves her off. "_Nah, _I had you for a little while." He pauses just long enough for the meaning to truly sink in. "And you were definitely worth the trouble."

Sarah's eyes flit upwards to meet his gaze and she feels her heart flutter at the brief connection. They tread too close though, and Chuck immediately breaks the moment by heading for the door.

She's left wondering if he really means it.

_Why else would he say it? _

Still, did he truly believe that their brief moments of happiness were worth all the pain she'd caused him?

Chuck and Sarah arrive at the church just in time to mingle with the crowd gathered in the hall. All eyes seem to fixate on them from the moment they enter. It's as if everyone can see right through all the make-up; as if they know exactly what's happening behind the scenes.

Sarah clutches Chuck's arm and sticks close to his side. He looks down at her, alarmed, and pries her fingers gently off of his suit.

"It's okay, Sarah," he soothes. "No one's going to hurt us here."

She stares at him; challenging his easy assurances, but he doesn't seem to catch her meaning. Ever since Ellie's departure she's wanted to ask him exactly what he meant when he said they wouldn't be getting a divorce.

She can't bring herself to though; because even though he's made himself abundantly clear, even though she's promised herself not to forget how much it hurt the first time...it's still not over. She wonders if he still thinks she's worth all this.

She already knows her answer.

Sarah looks carefully around the church. "People are staring at us."

Chuck quirks his eyebrows at her and bestows her with a rare smile of amusement. "They're not staring at _us,_ they're staring at you."

"Me?" Sarah looks down at herself and flushes, suddenly acutely aware that the clothes off her back couldn't afford the sales tax on the dresses of some of the other wives. "Do I look that bad?"

Chuck laughs when he sees her trying to pull her sweater down, forcing it to cover more than it was meant to. "Sarah." He grabs her hand and holds it steady. "You look great. They're just wondering who'd be crazy enough to marry a man like me." He smiles and gives her a chaste peck on the cheek. "I'm going to see where our seats are."

Sarah stiffens at the thought of their impending separation. The reminder that they all think she's crazy doesn't help.

_You are crazy. _

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Chuck hesitates. He swallows slowly and looks at her, as if waiting for her to say something more.

_Do you? _he seems to ask.

She makes no confession, and Chuck's unwilling to be the one to put his heart on the line.

He shakes his head. "No. I'll be fine—I'll be right back."

_Please don't leave me._

Sarah braves a smile. "You know where to find me," she says, barely able to tease him. He smiles back and wades through the crowd, and suddenly she's alone in a place she never wanted to be.

"Welcome to the party, Superstar." Melinda appears seemingly out of thin air with two full flutes of champagne. "I was beginning to think you two were going to be a no-show."

Sarah takes the proffered glass and gulps the bubbly down as if it were water.

"Thank you, you have no idea how much I needed that," she says, finishing her glass. Melinda raises a brow but doesn't make mention of her apparent thirst.

"Care for another?" she asks, offering her own full flute.

Caught on the proverbial ledge before a potentially harrowing fall, Sarah quickly declines. One glass was enough. She can't afford any more slip-ups. She's here for Chuck.

"No." Then, in a desperate bid to explain herself, she adds: "Sorry, Melinda, weddings just aren't my thing."

Melinda laughs. "I remember. That's like the only thing I know about you."

Sarah wrinkles her brows but the answer is given easily enough.

"We invited the two of you to our wedding but only Chuck showed." Melinda ribs her playfully with her elbow. Sarah flinches from the pain but manages not to show it.

"Come on, seriously? What can you possibly have against weddings? Did something ruin your day?"

Sarah feels her face flush but she's quick to blame it on the alcohol. "No. No, it was fine."

_Wrong adjective to use for only one of the most important days of your life. _

Melinda gives her a curious look.

"I was never one of those little girls who dreamed about their wedding day," Sarah quickly explains. "And I hate making a fuss of things."

Melinda laughs at that. "Ah, but what's a wedding without a dash of _drama_?" She raises her brows and nods in a certain direction.

Sarah follows her gaze, not realizing what the woman means until she sees her husband and a scantily clad woman in very close proximity to one another. Never mind that there were other people around them, the very fact the floozy had her long manicured nails ensnared around Chuck's elbow was enough to make her see red.

Sarah clenches her jaw, allowing only a low rumbling growl to escape her lips.

"What is that woman's name again?"

"Becky Birch," Melinda says, taking a wistful sip of champagne.

From across the room, the statuesque brunette with the obviously fake chest pretends to trip and falls into Chuck's arms. To his credit, Chuck does the only polite thing by catching her before she hit the floor.

"Don't worry. It happens...you have to mark your territory or these hags are going to think he's still up for grabs. And no—a wedding band is just a pretty piece of jewellery here. Wait until the bridesmaids see him…"

Melinda nods her head in the same direction but this time her gaze seems focused on a man standing by himself. Despite being every bit as well dressed, and probably every bit as charming as Chuck, there's isn't a single woman in his vicinity who gave him the time of day.

"Archie was the same way," Melinda says with a rather pleased smile. "Until I set them straight. Perhaps it's time you did a little straightening out of your own."

Sarah smiles but it fails to reach her eyes; all she sees is the harlot in scandalous red and none other.

"Will you excuse me for a moment?" she asks through gritted teeth. Exchanging her empty glass for Melinda's full one, she takes a long sip for courage and crosses the room.

Becky Birch is still clinging to Chuck when she approaches.

"Hey...honey," Sarah greets, her voice oozing with saccharine sweetness. Taking Chuck's other arm, she presses her body close against the side of his body and draws his attention until their eyes meet.

Chuck gulps and looks genuinely taken aback. "Hey...sweetie..." he greets, the endearment tumbling awkwardly from his lips.

She stares into those warm soulful eyes and wonders if she's wagered a bet she has no way of winning.

Chuck recovers quickly enough and when he kisses her full on the lips, Sarah's the one who has to remind herself that this is all for show.

She barely has time to enjoy the moment before it's gone; like candy floss it melts away and all she has is the memory of something so fleeting and sweet.

"Missed me?" he asks with a quirk and a smile.

"_Hmm_?" She falls into his arms, pressing one ear flat against his chest. It's hard to tell whether the pounding she hears is the rapid beating of his heart or simply all the blood rushing to her head.

It's impossible for two women to share the same space and when Chuck makes the decision to take Sarah in his arms, the other woman has to move aside.

Becky Birch takes a step back, looking like a puppy kicked to the curb.

"I should go..."

Sarah knows it's all for show but she can't help but feel victorious. Clutching Chuck possessively in her hold, she shoots a murderous glare at the brunette.

_Back off—he's mine. _

_Well…I mean…he's certainly not yours anyway. _

No words transgress between them but the woman seems to catch the drift. Reluctantly and not without a trace of disappointment, the brunette slinks away to lick her wounded pride.

"Do you know her?" Sarah asks, still staring at the woman's retreating figure.

"Um...who?"

Sarah pulls back, trying to ascertain whether he was serious or simply teasing. By all accounts, Chuck appeared completely sincere in his query.

"_Her,_" Sarah says, jerking a thumb in the direction of the toady social-climber. "Becky Bitch."

"Excuse me?"

Sarah blinks. "What?"

"You just called her a bitch."

The accusation makes her cheeks flush hot with shame. "I did not," she dismisses, cursing the Freudian slip. "Why would I do that?"

"I have no idea, you tell me," Chuck says, persisting to the very end. "I think she's perfectly nice."

The statement makes Sarah want to gnash her teeth together in frustration. "Of course she's nice; she's trying to get in your pants!"

Chuck looks at her in shock. "No, she's not, she's married!"

"Come on, Chuck, she's only interested in you for your money."

"Well of course she is!" Chuck replies without so much as blinking. Sarah's eyes widen in shock.

_You know? _

Sarah opens her mouth but no words could come forth; her jaw just hung open in shock.

"Her husband's business is going through a really rough time and if he doesn't find an investor he'll probably go bankrupt. Of course Becky's being nice to me and it has nothing to do with my pants." Chuck shakes his head in disappointment. "You know, that's always been your problem, Sarah. You're always so quick to see the bad in people.

"Dick!"

Sarah flinches at the insult. It was a little uncalled for and she was just about to tell him so when Chuck waves someone over to join them.

"Hey, Dick, I want to introduce you to my wife."

That's when she realizes who he really is.

Richard Kipling.

_Looks pretty harmless, right? _

Kipling is essentially an anti-Hawkins; a man with a tongue of lead rather than silver, who dressed as if his clothes were from the Salvation Army rather than the expensive outfitter he probably frequented. His intentions were likely good but the whole package left more to be desired. In short, Kipling was _unassuming_ which immediately caught Sarah's attention.

Chuck was a pretty unassuming guy too.

"She's here?" the man asks in surprise. "How…" His voice trails off as he realizes who Sarah must be. "Oh, my…"

Sarah's smile wavers. She didn't want to do this with Chuck; she wanted to do this _for_ him. But here he was, sticking his neck out for her, putting himself in the face of danger for her sake.

"Richard Kipling this is my wife, Sarah."

"Hi, Sarah Bartowski," she introduces, extending her hand to be shaken. "I've been _dying_ to meet you."

It's disconcerting that for a second she thinks she may have been slobbered on by a dog—his hand was dripping wet with sweat.

Sarah politely wipes her hand against the back of her dress, all the while continuing to smile.

The words elicit a fit of nervous laughter in the innocuous looking man. "You…you have? Why?" Kipling squeaks.

Sarah's mind races to come up with a suitable explanation, but Chuck doesn't miss a beat. "Well we both attended your talk on the Future of Data Buffering in 3D Rendering Engines and ever since, you're all Sarah can talk about."

"Uh…" Richard looks startled and Sarah wants to balk. Even this lie is more than she can pull off.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Sarah finally manages to say.

"The same… I'm so glad you're here," he says, staring at her and trying not to all at the same time. The end result is a man who looks incredibly distracted.

Sarah's smile momentarily falters. Kipling seems sincere enough in his words but she can so easily take them to mean something else entirely. It's precisely why Chuck and her so often don't see eye to eye. Only this time she feels justified in her suspicions.

"Oh? How come? Did you expect us not to make it?" she asks. Sarah bats her lashes innocently, keeping with the same stupid grin on her face.

Kipling blinks. "Uh, no, not at all...just that we so rarely see the two of you together...so nice to see that you are...and that you're here...uh…Chuck…sorry, I really need to make a phone call. It was nice meeting you!" Kipling waves at them and then turned and practically fled in the other direction.

"Okay, he's definitely up to something." Sarah states. She watches him make his way through the crowd wondering if she should capture him here and now at the wedding and find someplace to interrogate him.

"I don't know." Chuck shakes his head. "Dick's not really the criminal mastermind type."

"But did you see how nervous he was? And did you see how shocked he was that I was here?"

"Oh, that?" Chuck smiles and waves it off. "Don't mind that, Dick's always like that around women. He's brilliant, but he's terrified of women."

"What?" Sarah swivels around to face Chuck again. "That's preposterous." She had done her best to appear as approachable and harmless as possible.

Chuck shrugs. "You hang around in this business long enough and trust me, you meet all kinds." He nods in the direction of Sarah's arch nemesis. "So what had you so uptight about Becky? Is she on your big list of criminal suspects too?"

"Chuck, this isn't a game," Sarah whispers, glancing around them.

"I know, but these people are my friends and colleagues. You need to be nice to them. Becky's husband is a good guy and Becky, well I mean she has her moments, but she's always been nice to me."

_Because she's trying to get in your pants! _

"Besides…you have nothing to be jealous about. You're a million times prettier than Becky Birch." Chuck reaches out and gives her arm a reassuring squeeze and Sarah's reminded of how absolutely dreadful she must look. Her face burns with embarrassment.

"I wasn't jealous," she flatly denies.

Chuck's ensuing laughter was if nothing else, light-hearted. "I've seen the green eyed monster rear enough times to know when you're jealous, Sarah.

"I didn't know you still cared."

Sarah fidgets nervously beside Chuck. This was it, it was now or never. "Chuck, I…"

"Hey, well if it isn't the elusive couple!" A man Sarah can only deduce as Archibald Watts appears and wraps his arm around Chuck, breaking them apart. His wife Melinda follows behind, bestowing Sarah with an approving wink and grin.

"This is so much easier when it isn't you, right? Man, I was a mess on my wedding day." Archibald laughs nervously as he runs his hand carelessly through his hair. "You remember, right Mellie?"

Melinda raised her brows in question but kept silent, almost as if she didn't want to remember. "Oh, were you there? I don't really remember..." Melinda jokes, getting a small laugh from the quartet.

"I know what you mean. I was a mess too," Chuck confesses.

Sarah nearly chokes on room air. "What?" she exclaims and looks at him, unsure whether they were still speaking for their covers or speaking the truth.

Chuck blushes and refuses to meet her eyes. "I was..." he says.

She shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The way she remembers it, he'd been as solid as a pillar and she'd been the one on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"You know...you never did get around to telling me about your wedding day," Melinda reminds, prompting her to take a trip down memory lane.

Sarah swallows nervously. Sometimes she really hated her job.

She barely knew these two and they expected her to share this unimaginably private moment with them?

Chuck wraps his arm around her waist. "It was a quiet affair," he says, sparing her the discomfort. "A private wedding with just family and friends."

Even Chuck's sparse on the details, and Sarah doesn't blame him.

The past is all the more painful given their present.

Archibald and Melinda smile approvingly. "We wouldn't expect any less from two of the most private people I know," Melinda teases, and raises her glass to them. "Hope it was memorable—you only get one, right?"

* * *

_Sarah takes a deep breath...then another...and another but it's just not working. Adrenaline is coursing through her body and even though she's hardly had more than an hour of sleep last night, she feels ready to leap out of her chair and run out of the room—wedding dress and all. _

_She doesn't recognize the person in the reflection. Who is the frightened little girl staring back and what has she done with Agent Sarah Walker? _

This is a mistake. _For the millionth time she thinks of just taking off and only the thought of Chuck's crushed expression pushes her back down and forces her to sit tight. _

For once in your life, just do the right thing. _She's lived the life of a coward long enough. She can do this. Sophie did it—why couldn't she? _

"_No. You can't see her. It's bad luck to see the bride." _

_Sarah turns to the door, suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. She recognizes the voice instantly as that of her friend and confidante and the other—_

"_Just one minute. I promise. I'll even close my eyes." _

"_No. You've waited this long to get married, you can wait a few minutes more to see your bride." _

"_But—" _

"_No buts! It's bad luck!" _

_Sarah jumps out of the chair and runs to the door in the completely impractical ensemble. She yanks the door open, afraid she'll miss her chance and runs out—but he's still there. _

_Chuck's eyes brighten at the sight of her and his mouth hangs open in a dazed smile. _

_Sarah drops the folds of her long white gown and just stares, completely forgetting what she's come to say. _

"_Oh for goodness sakes!" Sophie admonishes. "Do you two have no sense of the moment? You can moon over each other with your love-sick sighs all you want when this is over." She turns to Chuck, stern as a spinster. "Now shoo—it's bad luck—" _

"_I don't believe in that stuff," Sarah dismisses. Her whole life has been about a series of bad luck and unfortunate events; meeting Chuck's the best thing that's ever happened to her. "He can stay." _

_Sophie grumbles, "I don't even know why you made me a bridesmaid if you aren't going to listen to me," but she does disappear back into the bridal suite. _

_Sarah holds out her hand and he takes it gingerly, the pads of his fingers slick with sweat. _

"_Can we talk?" he asks, his voice breaking at the simple query. _

_Sarah's stomach twists into a knot and she nods, unable to put to words what she's thinking. _

He's finally figured out he's making a mistake.

_The thought ought to fill her with relief, but it doesn't. _

_They enter her dressing room inside the bridal suite and Sophie shoots them both an annoyed look. "I'm not fixing your make-up again!" she warns after them. Sarah shuts the door; shuts her out. _

"_Sarah." He clasps her hands in both of his, and they're literally a breath's distance from another. _

This is it.

_Her lips are trembling and she suddenly realizes how faint she feels. What a spectacle that would make; passing out on her own wedding day. _

"_Sarah, are you sure about this?" _

_Sarah balks. "What?" She understands what Chuck's just asked her; what she really means is _why_ he would do this to her. Didn't he already know that she's a complete mess? Doesn't he have the sense to tell that she's teetering on the edge? _

"_I want you to be sure." He stares at her, all his hopes and dreams reflecting on the surface of those bright eyes. He's putting everything on the line for her, his heart on his sleeve, his soul laid bare—and worst of all; he's giving her the chance to take it all away from him. _

"_It's not too late," he says, as if reading her mind. "Even if we are at the end of the aisle and the minister asks us if we do, it's still not too late. If this isn't what you want, I don't want you to do it." _

_Sarah feels tears suddenly brim at the surface. He's always put her needs ahead of his own but it still comes as something unexpected. _

_People just don't think like Chuck; they use their heads not their hearts. _

"_Why? Are you having second thoughts?" _

_He shakes his head. "No." A pause. "Are you?" _

_She can't find it in her to be the first to admit something if he won't. _

_She's perfected the art of deception but they both know he's not the one holding them back. _

"_Chuck," she sighs, her voice quivering on the single syllable. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. But I've never wanted anything as much as I want to be your wife. Is it weird that I'm scared to want that?" _

"_Why would you be scared?" _

Wasn't it obvious?_ "What if it doesn't work out for us?" _

"_Hey…what could go wrong?" Chuck gives her a goofy smile and Sarah's gone. There's no stopping her now; she's long since lost the ability to say no to anything when he looks at her like that._

_Chuck hugs her close. Ellie and Sophie would both have a fit if they saw his chin resting atop her perfectly coiffed hair but she didn't care. She takes a deep breath, filling herself with his scent. _

_She didn't need any of this—the church, the dress, the rings, the paper; none of it. She just needed him. His secure embrace, his loving eyes, his easy smile—_

"_I'll understand if you don't..." Chuck says, his voice trailing off. He cups his palms against her face, his hands serving as a frame for her nervous expression. "It's okay..." _

_Sarah swallows. No, it wasn't. _

_Didn't he see? If she retreated now, she'll lose him forever. _

_The concept of time never seems as infinite as when she realizes what it truly means. A day without seeing Chuck made her heart sink like a lead weight but a month? a year?...never ever again? _

_Sarah shakes her head. "I'm sure, Chuck," she says. "I want to be with you." Today, tomorrow, the day after...forever and ever. _

_Chuck stares at her, his eyes growing wider and wider. His face explodes into an exuberant smile and he looks happier than the day she first agreed to his impromptu proposal. _

_Their lips crash together and even though they're about to make the promise to spend the rest of their days together, the urgency and fear that this will all end still hangs over them. _

"_I love you, Sarah," he says, and she doesn't doubt him, not even for a fraction of a second. _

_Sarah closes her eyes and holds him tight, wishing she could keep this moment with her forever. She doesn't care about the rings or the ceremony; all she wants is to feel this way for the rest of her life. _

_And if she didn't know better, she'd be sure she'd just gotten married right here in her dressing room. _

_

* * *

_

_Do you...a) forgive Sarah? b) hold a grudge against Sarah? c) not understand Sarah at all? d) want to leave a review for me? _


	30. Wednesday B III

_A/N: __Thanks **Altonish** for your tireless efforts. __I apologize for the delay. It's been a rough week.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 30: **

Archibald or 'Archie' as he insists Sarah call him despite Sarah's reservations for using the moniker, asks Chuck to go enjoy a cigar with the groom's party. Sarah can't think of a reasonable way to make him stay, so she waves him off and the two of them leave for the groomsmen's room.

As they walk away Archie leans into Chuck and says something to him, giving him a big slap on the back. Whatever it is causes Chuck to take a wayward glance back at Sarah and shake his head.

Sarah turns to Melinda, about to ask what their spouses could have said, just as a frazzled looking woman runs up to them. "Melinda, have you seen Rory and Tina?"

"No, why?" Melinda asks.

"They're supposed to be getting dressed and nobody in the wedding party has seen either of them!" the woman cries. The way her voice pitches makes it sound as if they're going to need to call in the police to conduct the search.

"Oh. _Pah!_" Melinda dismisses the woman's concerns with a wave. "They probably just found some other children to play with. I'll help you look."

"I'll see you later, Sarah?" Melinda asks.

Sarah gives her a nod and the two women head off in opposite directions.

_

Sarah walks slowly among the crowd, suddenly aware of her mission. She has a feeling the perpetrator is here in this very hall, probably watching her, and if only the ceremony weren't such a publicity stunt, she could narrow down the list of hundreds to a more manageable dozen.

The first name on the list heads towards her, wearing a grin that just begged to be slapped off.

"You look..." Sarah's skin crawls as he mentally undresses her with his eyes. "Breath-taking."

She gives a tight-lipped smile. "Mr. Hawkins..."

It's as if the incident in the auditorium never happened. She was the 'crazy bitch' one day and the next she was..._breath-taking? _

"Where's your date?" Sarah asks, craning her neck around. "Do I know her?"

The man laughs. "Hardly. There's still an empty seat at my dinner table; care to keep me company?"

Sarah could not believe the gall of this man. Obviously the threat of death by impalement hadn't been enough.

"My husband and I came together," she reminds.

Hawkins shrugs. "So?"

Sarah continues to smile, all the while gritting her teeth. "So I will be dining with him tonight."

Hawkin's expression falls. "That's a shame," he says. Then, leaning dangerously close to her ear, he adds: "Whatever he's paying you, I'll double it."

Sarah suddenly hopes Hawkins is the one; any excuse to kill him is welcome at this point. But unless being an absolute sleaze has suddenly become a crime punishable by death, she has no choice but to let him live. The last thing the Director needs is to hear about is a homicide at such a big event.

_Pity._

"Marriage, Mr. Hawkins, is priceless," she informs, resisting the urge to simply strangle the man and end the conversation at that. "How was the presentation yesterday? I missed it."

Hawkins shrugs. "Total snore but what's new? So, where were you?"

Either he's innocent or he's a prodigious liar and Sarah refuses to admit she's met her match.

"I was a bit _tied _up," she says with a slow smile. "You know how that can be, right?"

Hawkins nods. "Yeah, definitely know how that feels."

Sarah eyes him carefully, unsure of the true meaning behind his words. Unfortunately, her close attention is duly noted.

"You know, Sarah," Hawkins says, his lips splitting into a shit-eating grin. "If you wanted to keep me tied up…"

Sarah laughs. In the last five years she can count on one hand the number of times she's encountered someone so deserving of what he had coming.

"Oh Mr. Hawkins..." she demurs, one hand reaching into her clutch. "You have _no_ idea—"

"Sarah!"

Hawkins takes a step back just as Chuck appears from behind her. He takes her by the wrist and kisses her on the cheek, his lips grazing against her cheekbone as they move closer to her ear.

"_Don't..._" he pleads.

Sarah forces a smile. "Hey...honey," she replies. "You're back so soon."

Chuck shrugs. He wraps his arm around her and turns to face his business partner.

"Well I guess I just couldn't bear to be separated from you," he says, louder than he needs be. "Nice seeing you again, Chris; having a good time?"

"Not yet." Hawkins raises his glass to the couple. "But, the party's just getting started."

Chuck turns to Sarah before she can think of continuing the conversation. "Honey, there's someone I want you to meet. Sorry, you'll have to excuse us, Chris..."

Not one to be left behind, Hawkins quickly excuses himself as well. "Oh, no worries, I was just about to go...see... if I need to readjust my tie."

Chuck ignores the lame impromptu excuse, already pulling Sarah in the opposite direction.

"I had everything under control," she informs, snapping her clutch closed. "What are you doing back? I thought you and Archibald were going to see the groomsmen—"

"We were…" he says.

Suddenly Sarah hugs him, burying her face into his starched shirt. The proximity between them is nearly non-existent; she can feel every heated breath as if it were a ray of sunlight upon her skin. "Uh…Sarah?" he asks.

"Um…directly behind me in the red tie."

The moment fizzles and Sarah's reminded of her duty. She straightens out Chuck's tie and peeks over his shoulder, determined not to let any of this get to her head.

"Do you see him?" she asks. She should be focusing on the target at hand but all she notices is how his hands are resting snugly against her hips. He holds her a little tighter and pivots on the balls of his feet, turning her some twenty-some degrees to the right.

She leans in to him though she has no real need to and feels Chuck nod against her forehead.

"Looks like a pretty harmless guy, right?" she asks.

"_Sarah…_" Chuck warns.

"There's something about him," Sarah says, pivoting so that she had her eyes now on Kipling. "Come on, tell me he doesn't strike you as a bit suspicious."

Chuck bites his lips, refusing to give an answer either way. Sarah isn't listening anyway, her eyes are locked on Kipling. The man has a phone pressed to his ear and he's leaning over, trying to speak in a hushed tone. She can't make out anything in this crowd and he's too far away for her to lip-read—not that it mattered. The man was stammering so much his lips were a complete blur.

Suddenly Kipling realizes he's being watched. Their eyes meet from across the room and he freezes like a deer in headlights.

Sarah lets go of Chuck, all the alarm bells ringing in her head.

She watches as Kipling bumps his way through the crowd, hardly caring if he spilled a drink or elbowed someone's face. Nothing seemed more important than wherever he had to get to.

"Stay here and don't move, okay?" Sarah doesn't even wait for Chuck's answer before she's off.

"No! Sarah—" Chuck latches onto her arm and yanks her back.

Wary not to cause a scene, Sarah gently pries his hands off of her.

"Chuck, don't worry. I have a gun." She kisses him gently on the cheek, trying to ease the worry from his features. "If I'm not back in fifteen minutes..."

_What? Call the cops? _She was his best shot.

"I'll be back in less than fifteen," she corrects. "I promise."

Chuck gazes at her, the brown of his eyes dark and rebellious. His faces tenses but he nods wordlessly.

_

Sarah follows in Kipling's footsteps but she's far more careful about bumping into others and attracting unwanted attention. Every now and then she looks over her shoulder to make sure Chuck's not following her—he's good on his word, though he doesn't look entirely pleased.

Sarah manoeuvres her way to the end of the hall and rounds the corner. The hallway is practically empty and there's a certain sense of déjà vu when she walks down the length alone.

It's difficult to tail someone already on edge. Kipling frequently looks over his shoulder and Sarah's forced to distance herself further and further until she can no longer see him.

Hand ready over her clutch, Sarah follows the faint reverberations Kipling makes with his heavy gait. Either he wasn't a very good agent...or this was just another trap.

The fact she couldn't discern which did little to calm her nerves.

Suddenly she hears a hinge squeak and when she realizes what it means, she's too late. Kipling has disappeared through an emergency exit.

"Damn it!" she curses, racing to get to the door before it closed. She catches it before it shuts and holds it open, debating whether or not to run across the pavement in her three-inch heels.

Kipling speed-walks across the sea of cars in the parking lot and stops at a sleek black sports car. It's svelte design is a startling contrast to Kipling's own attire and lack of taste.

Sarah watches him in anticipation as he reaches into his inner jacket pocket. All she needs is a hint of some tangible evidence and he's all hers. Alas, it isn't a gun or a detonator that he retrieves but rather something small and bright-blue.

_What the hell?_

Sarah squints, trying to make out what deviousness Kipling has planned. The old Sarah would have shot first and asked questions later, but she can't afford to lose any more standing with the Director. He's already shown he won't accept any old excuse.

Kipling clutches the device in his hand and shakes his arm up and down.

_Was he trying to activate a bomb? Was he creating a chemical reaction? _

Kipling puts the object into his mouth—and inhales.

Sarah makes a face in disgust.

How anticlimactic. Kipling was an asthmatic.

She waits to see what the man will do next. Perhaps now that he's caught his breath he'll pull out his detonator and give Sarah reason to act.

Alas, he takes another puff of his inhaler and leans against the car, gasping for breath.

She almost felt a little guilty. Perhaps she ought to call an ambulance for him, in case he choked on his own breath. Kipling has his phone open now and is making another call but there's no way Sarah can get close enough to hear him without being seen.

"Are you sure about this?"

At first Sarah thinks it's the voice of her own conscience but then she realizes the speaker is male. Turning her head, she realizes the voice is coming from the other side of the hall.

Sarah leaves Kipling and turns her attention elsewhere. She presses her body flat against the nearest wall, slowly inching her way around to the adjoining hall.

A woman's voice interjects. "Yes, of course I'm sure."

The small hairs on the back of Sarah's neck prickles as she finds herself eavesdropping on what sounded like an intimate conversation.

"I'm sorry, babe, I'm sure you think he's a nice guy—"

"He is...and after today—"

Sarah's heart quickens. _Chuck?_ Was it Chuck they were talking about?

"I think you're making a big mistake—"

"No, this is going to make everything right again."

And then Sarah hears something that obliterates everything rational and sound in this world. "I love you, Archie, but if you aren't willing to leave your wife..."

Sarah thinks she's going to gag. _What the hell? _

"Melinda's a good wife," she hears Archie say. "I told you when we started I wasn't interested in anything more than what we have."

"Then I don't have any choice, at least someone loves me."

"One more time, baby? For me?" Archie begs.

She hears the woman sigh. "I hate it when you do that, you know I can't resist you."

Sarah freezes against the wall. She can scarcely believe what she's just heard. Peeking around the corner, she sees Archibald Watts and presumably the bride-to-be lip-locked in a most gratuitous public display of affection. It's a little revolting, truthfully.

Peeling her eyes away from the awful sight, Sarah heads back towards the main hall feeling visibly shaken.

_Okay. That was unexpected. _

At the end of the day, who Watts entangled himself with hardly mattered. Kipling was the prime suspect, but now? An asthmatic with a social condition so severe he could barely talk to women? She wasn't so sure. How would someone like that survive in an extensive criminal organization?

If it wasn't Kipling, then that left Hawkins and everyone else at this party. With another ten hours to go before the end of the day, Sarah has her work cut out for her.

Making her way back to Chuck, she takes his arm and whispers into his ear.

"You'll never guess what I just saw."

Chuck doesn't venture a guess; his attention is completely focused on the phone in his hand. He looks at her and swallows slowly, no trace of a smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, Devon of course, we'll be right there."

Chuck leans down and whispers to her. "It's Ellie."


	31. Wednesday B IV

_A/N: Have you ever wondered how fast a bus can go in the middle of a snowstorm? The answer: very...very...slowly. But i do get wireless internet which is insane. did you know buses have wireless internet now?_

_I'll be out of town for the next little bit. I'll try to get back to reviews and PM's and i do owe some reviews too, but it all depends on how nauseous i get here. then again, the internet will be my best friend for the next 5 hours._

_Thanks __**mxpw**__, strange shipper that you are, for giving this and the following chapter your approval. And thanks __**Altonish**__, i owe you a lot but all i can offer right now is snow, snow and more snow._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 31:**

Sarah clings to the door-handle of the car, her knuckles bone-white against her skin. At this rate they would probably make it to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. She had no idea a ride in a dinky electric car could be quite so...frightening.

"I'm sure everything's okay," she assures, rubbing Chuck's tense shoulder.

Her words have the intended effect and the man quickly steps on the brake, slowing them temporarily. "Right," he says, swallowing with difficulty. "You're right," he agrees.

Instead of changing lanes for the tenth time in the last three minutes he stays on the bumper of the car in front of them.

"It's weird...Ellie going into labour today; we just saw her a few hours ago," Sarah comments to break the silence.

She curses herself too late. _Damn it! _Count on her to say all the wrong things every time.

"I don't think it's a coincidence," Chuck says darkly. "All the excitement and stress of earlier was probably too much for her."

"I'm sorry about that," Sarah says softly.

"It's not your fault." Chuck shakes his head. "None of this is your fault; it's just a crappy situation."

Sarah can hardly believe her ears. She wants to argue with him, to show him just how wrong he is, but she's finally realizing how honesty may not be the best policy.

Chuck runs his hands through his carefully groomed hair, causing it to revert back into some semblance of its former curliness. "I should have taken care of all of this years ago, you know? I just…I just couldn't face it."

"Why didn't you?" she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. "You know, move on..."

Chuck grimaces and though he looks like he's already thought of a dozen reasons, he doesn't speak up initially. Finally, once they reach a stop-light and there are no other distractions for him to divert his attention to, he speaks up.

"I know things were bad when you left; after everything we'd been through, we were getting nowhere. And we were both so tired of fighting.

"I understood why you left. I didn't accept it but I understood." Chuck made sure to emphasize the difference. "It's hard..." He takes a deep breath. "In college I really thought Jill was the one. I mean, I was sure of it. Then we broke up in what felt like the worst way possible. It was tough; with the Stanford thing and Jill..."

Sarah nods silently beside him. It's so unfair; Chuck deserves so much more. It seems to go against human nature for a man as kind and forgiving as Chuck Bartowski to end up with such a failure for a wife.

"It took me five years to get over her and it turns out she wasn't even the one." He turns to her, his attention for once completely on her and not the road.

The thought is even more frightening than Chuck's sudden courage behind the wheel.

"Why would you think I'd be able to get over you any more quickly? I mean, you were the one." Chuck looks at her, waiting for an answer. "How can you even ask me that?"

His words cut clean through her heart. In so few words he's shown her a glimpse of vulnerability and at the same time, taken a sucker-punch to the face.

"You combine that with..." he trails off but the pain only intensifies. "I guess I didn't really feel like leaving that life behind. Chuck takes a deep breath and the silence stretches over them again. "That probably sounds really silly to someone like you."

Sarah stares out the window, hastily wiping away any evidence of a cracking facade.

"No," she says. "It doesn't."

* * *

_Sarah dangles her feet over the examination table, checking her phone for what feels like the hundredth time. She's promised Chuck a lunch-date and if she doesn't leave the office soon she'll be late. _

_Finally the door opens and the doctor steps in with her chart. _

"_Oh good!" Sarah rolls up one of her sleeves. "You can give me both in one arm, it'll save the hassle." _

"_Agent Walker—" _

"_It's Sarah," she corrects. "Or Mrs. Bartowski. Your pick." _

_The doctor sighs. "_Mrs. Bartowski,_" he says. "I'm don't think it's such a good idea." _

"_But I'm leaving the country next week. I _need_ them." _

_The doctor shakes his head. "I'm sorry. The risks outweigh the benefit." _

_Sarah wants to laugh. "What risks?"_

_Was he really going to deny her care because she was doing a job for the agency—the same agency that paid his bills? _

_He shakes his head. "Honestly, you people will do just about anything to get out there." _

_Sarah narrows her eyes. So it _was_ about her work then. _

"_You're going to have to answer to my superiors." _

_The doctor threw his hands up in the air. "If your superiors honestly place your job above the safety of you and your unborn child then I would seriously reconsider your career choices." _

"_Every job has its risks—" Sarah's eyes widen. "Wait. What did you just say?" _

_The doctor holds out a sheet of paper filled with numbers and words she has no way of understanding. Sarah takes it but it might as well have been an abstract drawing. _

"_You didn't know?" The doctor looks genuinely surprised. "Mrs. Bartowski...you're pregnant." _

_Sarah's first instinct is to laugh; the idea is just preposterous. "I'm sorry, Dr. Morris, but there must be some mistake. I'm not pregnant." _

"_The tests prove otherwise." _

_Sarah tosses the sheet back at him. "If I were pregnant, I would know." _

_Sure, it's been awhile since her last cycle but her job (read: her life) has always been unpredictable. Besides, women missed them all the time, her doctor—heck, this freaking doctor, told her it was normal! _

_"But...but..." she babbles. _

_"Some women don't experience any of the classical symptoms. And a woman of your figure...it's not unusual—"_

_"No, not unusual—_not_ possible," she insists. _

_Still, the creeping fear continues to mount. Was she truly so emotionally disconnected that she couldn't even tell she was with child? _

_The doctor smiles benignly. "Mrs. Bartowski, have you had sexual intercourse in the last two months?" _

_Sarah squirms in her seat, feeling not unlike being in Junior High biology class all over again. _

"Yes,_" she says, rather reluctantly. "But—"_

"_Well then strictly from a scientific point of view, it's entirely possible for you to be pregnant." _

"_No, I can't be pregnant," Sarah insists, steadfast in her convictions. "My husband and I are always very careful. We use protection; I'm on the pill—"_

"_You do realize that no form of protection is a hundred percent." _

"_What?" Sarah flushes with indignation. "Well of course not, that's why we use two forms of birth control. Ninety-nine percent and ninety-nine percent is more than a hundred percent, is it not?" _

_The doctor suppresses a smile. "I'm afraid that's not how the math works." _

Clearly.

_A cold chill runs through her system as the doctor's words finally sink in for her. _

"_Clearly it doesn't work at all!" she rages. "I mean, what the hell is the point if the stuff doesn't work? Why would anyone even bother?" _

_Sarah's aware she lost the edge of rationality but she can't be pregnant, she just can't be. _

"_Well under most circumstances it is effective. I mean...you've never been pregnant before." The doctor says it as if she's dodged the inevitable bullet for far longer than expected. _

_What was it her survival training instructor always said? _You have to be vigilant at all times, ever single second. Just one mistake and it's all over.

_Sarah's hands are shaking and she can't make them stop._

"_I think once the shock wears off and your hormones level out a bit that you'll find that this is really a blessing." _

_The man's words induce a fit of hysterics. The shaking spreads to her whole body and she's unsure whether to laugh at this debacle or simply burst into tears. _

"_No. Doctor, I don't think you understand. I _can't_ be pregnant. This just isn't going to work..." She clutches her temples, feeling the first signs of a tremendous migraine. "Oh my God...what am I going to tell Chuck?" _

"_Well..." The doctor scratches his head. "There are other options available for unwanted pregnancies..." _

_Sarah raises her head and looks warily at the doctor. "What do you mean?" she asks after some hesitation. A small sliver of hope leaps to life in her heart. _

"_Um well...there's adoption—"_

_Sarah shakes her head. "No." Chuck would never allow something like that. _

"_Um, well..." The doctor struggles to say what is so clearly at the forefront of his mind. "Given your career choice and the circumstances...here, why don't I give you this pamphlet to read over—"_

_Sarah looks at the smiling couple on the pamphlet and then reads the bold letters at the bottom. _Responsible Parenthood: Making the Right Choices for your Family.

_Sarah flips it open and quickly scans through it. When she realizes exactly what the doctor means, she recoils as if the paper has bitten her and throws it back at him. _

"_Oh my God!" Her hands instinctively hover over her still-flat stomach. "You want me to _kill_ my baby?" _

_The doctor blanches. "Well, no...I never said that—"_

"_No, but that's certainly what you meant." _

"_No, no, Mrs. Bartowski, I was merely suggesting..." _

_Sarah doesn't even hear him speak. She hadn't planned on this pregnancy and she's not altogether keen on the idea of being a mother but that didn't mean she'd ever for a second consider the unthinkable. _

_The doctor takes a step back towards her with his hands outstretched. It's supposed to be a placating gesture but Sarah doesn't register the body language. _

"_I swear to God if you take one step closer to me and my baby I will impale you to the door." Sarah jumps to her feet and collects her things. _

_The doctor abides by the threats made out to him and keeps a wary distance. _

"_Mrs. Bartowski, I was just trying to be realistic here—" _

_Sarah silences him with just one look. _

"_Thank you for your help...but I won't be needing your services." She glares at him as she reaches for the door. "Murderer." _

_

* * *

_

Sarah sits quietly beside Chuck in the hospital corridor, trying not to show her disdain for all this institution stood for. Everything from the overwhelming stench of antiseptic to the frightfully white-washed walls brings back a series of past-experiences each more agonizing than the last.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate being in a waiting room?"

Chuck smirks. "Patience is a virtue, Sarah."

He means it in jest, but she knows he's had his fair share of waiting to hear the news. She was always the one on the other side, never one to sit idle and the passage of time here seems unnaturally slow.

She doesn't know how Chuck does it. She hates relying on someone else for everything and knowing that nothing she did would ever be enough. She hates it when things are out of her control.

"Hey...if you need to go back—"

"Chuck." The fact he's even thought of it makes her flush with anger. "This isn't about you or me."

_This is about family._

Whatever bare strands of family she still has, this is still her family.

Her conscience is screaming at her to see the error of her ways but she is deaf to all the warnings. If this is her last assignment before a pitiful existence in some God-forsaken country; then so be it.

It's Wednesday and all good things are about to come to an end.

This may be one of the last moments they shared together.

Chuck swallows slowly. He takes her hand and squeezes it tight. "You're right," he says. "It's not."

Sarah stares down at their clasped hands and she wants to just enjoy this moment. She never knows when she'll get another chance and the fear is not so different from being cast out in the cold. Once she's found shelter, she never wants to leave.

"Chuck, there's something I've been wanting to tell you." He looks at her expectantly, and Sarah already feels the invisible strings pulling them apart again. "When I went after Kipling—" His eyes widen at the imminent revelation, but Sarah knows that's not the real bombshell. "I saw Archibald and the bride together."

"Okay."

"No, Chuck. They were _together._" Sarah sighs. She really doesn't want to describe the atrocity she bore witness to. "They were all over each other, Chuck."

Chuck lets go of her hand and the separation weighs heavy on Sarah's mind. Choosing her job has never felt like a worse decision as it did now.

"No." He shakes his head stubbornly. "That's just not possible. I've known Archie for too long. That isn't something he'd ever do."

Sarah flushes with anger. "Chuck!" she hisses, wary of her tone. They were in one of the worst places to have an argument. As if the people they're forced to surround themselves with are not already wound up enough as is; the last thing she wants to do is single themselves out as the worst of the bunch.

"I saw what I saw."

"Well then you must have seen wrong," Chuck insists, refusing to accept her statement.

"Chuck, I heard them talking. He's been with her for awhile now, she wants him to leave Melinda and he says he doesn't want to. They were making out right in front of me—"

"No. Stop it, Sarah." Chuck holds out his hand and Sarah just wants to grit her teeth and push his head through the wall. There used to be a time when he trusted her complicity; no questions asked. Now every little grain of truth had to be force-fed and literally shoved down his throat.

"Archie would _never_ do that."

"I promised you I wouldn't lie to you anymore," Sarah reminds. "Remember?"

Chuck bites his lips but he doesn't say anything. His silence is enough for her though; he may as well have accused her of being a liar outright.

"Look, Sarah, you don't know Archie the way I do. When you left..." He hesitates and has to look away to catch himself. "When you left," he starts again, keeping an impassive expression on his face. "I was a mess."

The confession isn't easy for Sarah to take. They're both wary of their postures and tones here in the hospital; to the rest of the world they still had a facade to uphold.

"My heart just wasn't in anything. I made mistakes. I nearly ran Nerd-E games into the ground and it was Archie who came in and rescued me.

"He's a good, honest guy, Sarah. I didn't ask him for help but he did it anyway. He's brilliant with a computer; I still wish he would come work for us. When I finally sold Nerd-E games to Star-Hawk EA, I gave him twenty percent of the company's shares as a thank-you gift."

Sarah frowns. "_So..._he's still a shareholder?"

Chuck shrugs. "He's a silent partner, I mean he's got the third most shares, but it's not like he's ever asked for a board seat or anything. It's perfect. Chris and I have made plenty of mistakes but Archie's always stood behind us. Heck he played the early release of Tropic of Cancer, knew it was terrible and still stuck by us. That's just the kind of guy he is."

"Wait… why would you release Tropic of Cancer if you all knew it was bad?" Sarah asks.

"Two years of production. Millions spent on marketing…we couldn't just _not_ release it. I mean, you don't understand...we had to send it to market. There's a bunch of people who will buy it just because it has my name on it."

The revelation takes Sarah by surprise. "Chuck!" she admonishes. It was just too uncharacteristic of him.

Chuck just sighs. "Sarah, you really have no idea the pressures of corporate America." The way he lectures her is all too reminiscent of the way she had once and the role reversal was just plain eerie. "Sometimes you do things you'd really prefer not to, just to stay alive."

"But...but..." She's seeing a side to him she never knew existed; she doesn't want to accuse him of anything but it's almost as if he didn't care. "What happens if you don't make that money back? What happens when the game bombs?"

Chuck shrugs. When she looks at him, she's frightened by what she discovers.

There's an absence of life in his usual warm, brown eyes.

A sense of indifference for whether things went his way or went to hell.

"What do I really have to lose?" he asks. "I don't need a fancy house or expensive clothes. I never have."

"No," Sarah whispers. This conversation suddenly feels just like five years ago. Only Chuck is saying the words this time around.

_All I ever needed was you. _

_

* * *

_

_Sophie laughs. "And then you slammed the door in his face?" She laughs again, banging her fist against the table until the silverware clatters noisily. _

_It's enough to attract the attention of everyone in the quiet diner. _

"Shhh! _It's not funny," she reminds. "Sophie..." Sarah runs her hand through her hair, wondering why their conversations always began this way. "I fucked up." _

_Sophie struggles to suppress her laughter but it bubbles out of her anyway. _

"_I hate to say this, Sarah, but I told you so!" _

_Sarah rolls her eyes. "This is a disaster!" _

"_Or perhaps the best thing you ever did." Sophie smirks. "You guys are going to have such beautiful babies."_

"_One baby." Sarah sticks out one finger so they can both clearly see the value. "Just one." _

_Sophie only laughs harder and it's frustrating enough to make Sarah want to rip out her hair. _

"_I really can't do this." Sarah reaches across the table for Sophie's hands and clings onto them. "Please tell me what to do." _

"_I think you already know what to do." _

_Sarah rolls her eyes again. "Aside from the obvious." _

Tell Chuck. Cry a little. Have the baby and say goodbye to your career.

"_I don't mean I want parenting advice, Soph. I mean what do I do about..." She tries to gesture with her hands but her problems are wider than the mere span of her arms. "_Everything."

_Sophie shrugs. "Have you told him?" _

_Sarah shakes her head. "I was supposed to have lunch with him." _

_The older woman wrinkles her brows. "Don't you think you should?" _

"_What? Have lunch with him?" _

"_Yes, that's exactly what I meant," Sophie deadpans. "Don't you think he deserves to know?" _

"_I just found out an hour ago. I need some time to figure all this out." She reaches for her coffee but stops short. _

_Was she allowed to have coffee now? And to think she drank a full cup this morning utterly nonchalant and oblivious to her fate. The realization fills her with dread. What other senseless things has she exposed her poor unborn child to? Did she have a glass of wine at Ellie and Devon's last week? Was she even pregnant then?_

"_You're not honestly considering whether or not you want to keep the baby, are you?" Sophie asks, all trace of humour removed from her features. "And just so you know, you can have the coffee." _

_Sarah takes a small sip and her cheeks betray her embarrassment. She didn't even know the simplest things. _

"_No. Of course not." There's no question about it. _

_She'd never asked for this, but a part of this baby was Chuck's too. It had taken years for her to come to terms with her feelings for Chuck, but somehow, she already loved this baby. _

_Sarah clutches at her stomach; clearly she was insane. _

"_So why do you need time? Seems to me you've got it all figured out." Sophie takes Sarah's coffee and finishes it for her. "Too much coffee isn't good for you," she teases with a wink. _

_Sarah sinks into the booth, much like the realization she was going to become a mother was slowly sinking into the forefront of her mind. _

"_Sometimes I think I'm afraid to be happy." _

_Sophie stares at her. "Sarah," she says, in the gentlest voice she's ever heard her friend use. "That...is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." She sits back and gives her a critical lookover. "Did the Director really think you and I were very much alike?" _

_Unable to stop herself, Sarah laughs. _

"_You think too much, Sarah," she admonishes gently with a smile. _

_Sarah purses her lips together. "I hate you sometimes, you know? You make it look so damn easy." _

_Sophie laughs. "That's because it really is. And if you stopped resisting long enough, you'll see what I mean." She puts on her coat and grabs her purse. "You shouldn't be here in this ratty old diner with me. You need to go find Chuck." She winks at Sarah as she drops down a few bills to cover the drinks. "And when you do, tell him I said '_Nice work, Romeo'_."_

_Sarah glares at her friend, but she can't be angry with her. Sophie's enthusiasm is contagious. _

_She's already picturing a Sunday morning with the three of them nestled in bed working on a crossword. Sarah feels a twinge in her stomach and despite the fact that she knows it's impossible for her to feel something no larger than a pea, she knows…that's __her __baby. _

_

* * *

_

Sarah stands at the nursery window, searching along the row upon row of cots for the one. Something about this place gets to her. Maybe it's the sunny yellow wallpaper, or the soft lighting and the bundles of pink and blue, but she's not quite herself.

Chuck points against the window. "There he is," he whispers, barely able to contain his excitement. His face bursts into a giant grin; Sarah doesn't remember when she last saw him so happy.

The nurse sees them and walks up to the cot in the second row. She points to the name tag and Chuck nods, leaning so close to the Plexiglas that his breaths make little fog circles against the smooth, clear surface.

The matronly woman acquiesces and scoops the newborn into her arms, walking closer to the glass so they can both see. He's red as a raspberry and only a tuft of translucent blond hair peeks through his tiny cap.

Sarah feels her heart throb at the sight of the babe; as if her blood has somehow coalesced and turned into thick slough against her arteries. Every breath, every second more of her agonizing life drags its way across time.

It takes only a second to have a lapse in judgement, and suddenly she imagines things she has no right to. A baby of her own with Chuck's luscious dark curls and a laugh that could melt glaciers. Her heart swells with love for someone she's never met—will never meet.

Chuck gasps in awe. "He's so beautiful, isn't he?"

Sarah nods in silent agreement.

She hates herself for not being able to express her emotions like a normal human being. She hates that she has to be this way. That she has to make everything in her life so difficult.

"Looks just like Devon...don't you think?" When Sarah doesn't respond, Chuck turns to her. "Hey, Sarah, don't you—" He stops abruptly and grabs her shoulder.

"Hey...Sarah, you okay?"

As quickly as she can, Sarah wipes her palms across her face but she only smears the tears so they are all the more visible. "I'm fine." Her voice hitches and she refuses to say more lest she give herself completely away.

"Sarah, what's wrong?" Chuck's voice softens and he turns her around so her back is to the glass and the nurses. What precious little dignity she has left, she's grateful for. "What's the matter?"

He tries to wipe away her tears, but frankly that's too much. She doesn't deserve pity, or tenderness, or whatever this was.

She intercepts his hand and holds it tight against her chest. There's an empty space between them and she has no idea how to fill it. She wishes for things she can't have, things she can never speak aloud.

"Sarah..."

Sarah looks up into his worried eyes, and knows more than ever, that she doesn't deserve him. She's riddled with guilt for all the things she's done...hasn't done...and—

"I'm just so happy for them," Sarah says, wiping her own tears. It's not a lie, but it's not really the truth either.

Chuck eyes her with indecision. Carefully, ever so cautiously, he wraps his arms around her and brings her closer.

Sarah buries her face into his chest, choking on silent sobs. He strokes her hair, ever so gently, and kisses her on the crown of head.

"I am too," he whispers, but the melancholy in his voice overshadows all else.


	32. Wednesday B V

_A/N: I'm baaack (ha, i'll bet you're wondering when i ever left) I'm surprised by the number of people smushed by the last chapter, __**mxpw**__ has been gloating, i'm sure. For those of you who haven't connected all the dots, the following chapter and chapters 9 and 26 may help you out. and tsk tsk to all the people who thought sarah did something drastic about her situation or kept it a secret from chuck. have ye no faith?_

_Thank you as always to the great __**Altonish**__ who helped me tweak the angst and adjust the tone of this story. what am i going to do when you leave for sunnier skies?_

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* * *

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**Chapter 32: **

It's been a day filled with joyous events and yet both of them look as if they've just returned from a funeral. Sarah's in a sombre mood and she fears she's cast her dark shadow over Chuck as well.

He tries not to let it show and Sarah's tried so hard to simply forget that neither of them dares to break the silent shroud that lays over them.

There aren't any words left. If they couldn't talk about this years ago, what chance did they have now?

Only she can't forget. Her mind won't let her, and when she closes her eyes, it's the sonogram photo she sees burned behind her eyelids. She's quite simply run out of places to hide.

Seeing her newborn nephew has brought back a kind of pain she thought she'd never have to feel again, and it's every bit as heartbreaking as it was five years ago.

"So...I guess we should call it a night then," Chuck says as they pass through the front hall.

Sarah holds onto his hand. "Please don't sleep on the couch tonight," she pleads. "The master bedroom is yours. I'd feel better if you slept there."

Chuck hesitates. "Please, Chuck?" she begs.

_Please don't leave me alone upstairs. _

He must be exhausted because he doesn't put up much of a fight. It only takes a second round of pleading before he concedes and walks with her up the stairs.

"Okay...well, good night, Sarah," he says as they part ways on the upstairs landing. She takes the first room on the left and he walks a little ways down the hall to the adjacent bedroom.

"Good night, Chuck," she whispers as she closes the door behind her.

She suppresses the tears just long enough to shut herself away before she leans against the frame and sinks to the ground.

* * *

_Sarah drops by Chuck's rented office—his home away from home—and plops down the bagged lunch onto his desk. It was already two in the afternoon but she knows how her husband can be sometimes when he became too engrossed in his work. _

_It's no secret that she harbours the fear he may die of starvation if it weren't for her. _

"_I know it's kind of late but it thought you might still be hungry," she says, feeling incredibly lame. They'd been planning for a lunch together for nearly two weeks and she'd blown him off with an excuse to see her friend. _

"_Sarah!" The man looks genuinely surprised to see her. He gets out of his chair and gives her a quick hug and kiss. "I thought you had to see Sophie." _

"_I did but she had to run." Sarah picks up the packed take-out bag. "I got you a sandwich." Sheepishly she unfurls the bag and hands it to him. _

_Chuck takes a quick peek. "Oh wow, the _Chuck_?" He wrinkles his brows which she instantly takes to be a sign of his disappointment. _

"_You don't like it?" she asks, deflating. "I thought it was your favourite." _

"_It is," he says. "But I thought you didn't like that sandwich place." _

"_Well I don't," she replies. "But _you_ like it and that's what matters." _

_Her thoughtfulness causes Chuck to furrow his brows even further but ultimately he shrugs it off. _

"_A footlong from Subway would have been fine, but thank you," he says, adding a kiss for all her extra effort. _

"_Oh and here." Sarah pulls something out of her bag. "I picked you up an energy drink." Chuck's eyes widen and his jaws drop a little. "You don't like the brand?" _

"_I do," he says and quickly takes it off her hand. "But they only sell these downtown." _

"_And?" _

"_And Lou's deli is nowhere near downtown." When Sarah still doesn't see his point, he adds: "Plus you hate it when I drink these things." _

_Sarah flushes with embarrassment. This wasn't going the way she thought it would. Why couldn't Chuck just be happy? _

"_It doesn't hurt just once in a while. I don't like when you stay up all night drinking them." He doesn't look like he quite believes what's happening and she wonders if it's really been so long since she's done this for him. "If you keep staring I'm going to throw it all in the trash." _

"_No! I love it," Chuck says, quickly taking a bite of his lunch to prove it to her. He smiles goofily at her, his cheeks puffing from all the food. _

_Sarah laughs at the sight and when he puts down his sandwich, they fall into each other's arms. She runs her hand through his curls and looks at him—really looks at him, realizing there's still question in his eyes. _

"_What's got into you?" he murmurs. _

_Sarah shrugs and lets go, all too aware that he's catching on to the fact that things weren't quite right. _

"_I don't know, do I really need a reason to bring my husband lunch?" _

_Chuck swallows slowly. "Well I just figured you had a lot to do. I know you're going away soon so you've probably got lots to pack."He lets go of her and returns to his seat, giving her a half-hearted smile. It's just that though—he doesn't want her to leave but he doesn't want to fight either. _

"_Chuck." Sarah sinks down in the seat across from him, wishing there wasn't so much space between them. She places her palms flat against the table and takes a deep breath._

"_I don't think I'm going to take that trip." _

"_What?" Chuck frowns. "Sarah, I told you already. We'll work things out. I know I was asking for too much...but I understand why you do what you do. I just wish you didn't feel like you had to…you know…for forever. If you're happy…" He smiles again but it's still only half calibre. Sarah hears exactly what he's saying. Once again he'll sacrifice his happiness for hers, because that's just what Chuck does. _

"_I just want you to be happy." _

_Sarah is happy, maybe not Ellie-happy, but happier than she thought she'd ever have any right to be. Chuck picks up their dropped thread of conversation. _

"_I can wait...and I've got a lot of work on my plate right now so you—" _

"_No, Chuck." She bites down hard on her lips, shushing herself before she dropped the bombshell. "I mean, I don't think I can go on that trip." _

"_Why? What happened at the doctor's?" Before she can explain, Chuck gets caught up in his own thoughts. "Oh my God, they wouldn't clear your medical, would they?" _

_Sarah can't bring herself to lie but it only furthers Chuck's worst fears. _

"_Are you okay? You look kind of pale." _

"_I'm fine, Chuck," she says, bristling at the idea she might look any different simply because a man with a shiny diploma's told her so. _

"_I don't believe you," he says flatly. He grabs her hands and holds onto them, squeezing them for reassurance. "Something's wrong. Please, tell me what it is. Is it curable? If it's a matter of money, I can always go back to the firm. And if we need to move to another city to get treatment—" _

"_Chuck! Everything is _fine,_" she stresses. Her hands are trembling through and that's what ultimately gives her away. _

"_No, it's not! You can't just come in here and feed me all my favourite things and think it's going to cushion the blow." _

Damn it._ And here she thought the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. _

"_Chuck, it's just lunch." _

"_No, Sarah, you were buttering me up for something." He sighs, squeezing her hand for comfort. "How bad is it? What did the doctor say?" The blood drains from his face as he determines the prognosis prematurely. "It's bad, isn't it? You got me my favourite sandwich _and_ the drink you never let me have..." _

_Chuck makes it sound like the combination is what does her in. _

"_Chuck," she begins. _

"And _you blew off Sophie to see me. She knows doesn't she? If you don't tell me I'm just going to call her and force it out of her. I'll get Carl to tell me—" _

"_I'm pregnant!" she exclaims out of frustration. _

_Sarah bites down hard on her tongue, wondering if she's just committed a huge mistake by being so blunt. Chuck didn't usually take well to surprises. _

"_Chuck? Did you hear me?" _

_Chuck gulps slowly. "W-w-what?" he sputters. "What did you just say?" _

"_Um..." Sarah wonders if she should just pretend none of this ever happened. It would be a lot easier that way."I went to the doctor's for a physical and a couple of lapsed immunizations and hey, guess what? It turns out I'm pregnant." Sarah opens her hands above her shoulders and smiles weakly._

_Chuck just stares at her despite the fact that she's pretty sure it's his turn to say something. "I know what you're thinking. We use birth control, that's what I told the doctor," Sarah babbles to fill in the silence. "But apparently using two forms of contraception that are ninety-nine percent effective doesn't make it a hundred-and-ninety-eight percent effective." _

"_No," Chuck shakes his head. "It's only ninety-nine point nine-nine percent effective." _

"_Well if everyone knows then why didn't anyone tell me that!" Sarah exclaims, bristling at her own ignorance. _

_Chuck laughs at that, as she knows he's apt to. "Hey, it's okay." _

"_Okay?" Sarah stares at him waiting for him to say more but Chuck's mouth is clamped shut. "Okay? I tell you I'm pregnant and that's all you have to say? It's okay? "_

_Sarah runs her fingers through her hair. "I can't believe this; I thought you'd be happy. I mean, you've always wanted a family and we've talked about it and even if we'd decided to wait, I still thought you'd be happy." _

_Chuck nods but his expression remains one of bewilderment. "I am," he confesses. "I'm just not sure if I'm allowed to be." _

_Sarah doesn't understand. "Of course you're allowed to be. Why...why wouldn't you be allowed?" _

"_Well, what are we going to do?" he asks. Even though she can barely feel a change in herself, Sarah's hands instinctively wrap around her stomach. _

"_Well, I don't have any frickin' clue but I'm pretty sure eventually we're going to have a baby," she says. It sounds so simple when she words it like that, but she knows she's nowhere near prepared_

"_Really?" Chuck nearly chokes on the revelation. _

_Her face crumples and from nowhere tears begin spring from her eyes. "Why does everyone think that? Why does everyone think I'm unfit to be a mother?" _

"_What?" Chuck jumps out of his chair and sinks to the ground beside her. "No! Of course not!" He holds her hand and looks guiltily at her flat stomach. "No! Of course not, I was just worried that you wouldn't want this baby." _

"_Our baby," Sarah corrects. Now it's Sarah's turn to look guilty. "Well, I know I said I didn't want children but...I mean...how else am I supposed to be a mother—" _

_She runs out of words when she gazes down at her husband. He looks every bit as terrified as she does and he has no reason to be. She knows he'll make a perfect father, ten times the kinds of fathers they had growing up. _

"_I just wish you were happy," she says. "I just always pictured that if we did this someday, that you'd be you know…" Sarah waves helplessly at him. "_Chuck-ish_ about it." _

_Chuck finally smiles and it's anything but half-hearted. "Well I've had years of conditioning to keep the good news boiled down to a low level otherwise I'd totally set off Ellie." Chuck smacks his forehead. "Oh my god…Ellie's going to hit the roof…how are we even going to get a hold of them? They just left and she said it could be months before they make contact. She's totally going to freak out. She'll probably be on the first plane back."_

_Sarah freezes. _Ellie. _She's completely forgotten about her sister-in-law. _

_Chuck looks at her, "Hey, are you okay?" _

"_I'm a little scared," she confesses; 'little' being the understatement of the year. _

_He kisses her and all his optimism rubs off on her. "Everything's going to be okay," he soothes, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb. She smiles. _

"_Better than just okay," she says, hugging him tight. _

"_I promise." _

_

* * *

_

Sarah doesn't even realize she's crying until the door swings open. Her dress is a puddle of wrinkles forgotten on the floor and she's sitting on the ground, hugging her knees in nothing but her underwear and an old shirt.

Sarah glances up at Chuck but she just can't stop crying.

"I'm so sorry," Sarah mumbles, in a voice so broken she's not even sure Chuck can understand her.

Wordlessly he slides against the wall and sits down, placing an arm around her. For a moment the chill that's settled into her bones eases just a bit and she realizes that she's freezing.

She has no idea how long she's been sitting here crying but she doesn't know what else to do. She's out of words and all that comes forth are tears.

She buries her face into Chuck's warm torso and shudders. Chuck doesn't say anything. He just holds her a little tighter.

Eventually, she runs out of tears and he finally speaks up.

"Let's put you to bed."

Sarah doesn't move but Chuck scoops her up easily and carries her to the guest bed. He sets her down for a moment while he pulls back the covers and then lays her down. Just as he tucks her in and starts to move away, Sarah reaches out and grabs his wrist.

Her hand slides down until she captures his fingers. "Chuck…" she begs. He freezes unsure what she's asking and it takes a moment for her to summon the courage to speak her mind.

"Will you stay with me?" She knows what she's asking for is a lot so she rushes to make herself clear. "It doesn't have to mean anything...I..." Several times she wants to quit but Chuck gazes at her quietly in the darkness, giving her his full attention. "I just don't want to sleep alone tonight."

She waits for him to say something...anything, but Chuck's silent. If she didn't know better, she would have thought she was staring up at a statue.

"Please? Just for tonight?" Sarah's heart aches and she shivers from the cold. "I just can't..."

_I don't want to be alone. _

"Okay," he whispers. Perhaps it's out of pity, perhaps he means it; Sarah doesn't want to dwell on the thought. All that matters is that he's still here.

"Well, move over, if you want me to stay," Chuck finally says with slight bemusement when she's hasn't moved an inch.

Sarah doesn't believe this moment can be real, but she slides over anyway and seconds later her vacated spot is filled with Chuck's warmth. He extends an arm and she slides against him, her back pressed against his chest.

"Thank you," Sarah finally says.

Chuck sighs. "It's hard for me too. It's hard not to think about it."

They're silent for a while and Sarah just feels Chuck's chest moving against her back as he breathes. It's a balm for her aching heart.

It makes no sense. How can you lose something that was never yours to begin with?

"Do you ever miss her?" Sarah asks. It's crazy, she knows, they've never even met her. There barely even was a _her_ before there was nothing at all.

"All the time." Chuck breaks her from her erratic thoughts. "Almost as much as I miss you."

The sobs come back, lighter than before, but with just as much pain. Chuck's arms wrap tighter around her and she thinks she's finally found a safe place to hide all her emotions.

"It's going to be okay," Chuck whispers and for the first time in a long time Sarah actually believes him.


	33. Thursday B I

_A/N: Hello and welcome to thursday! i kept thinking something was off about this chapter and it wasn't until __**mxpw**__ pointed it out that i realized what i'd done wrong. he's an anti-charah shipper that one, so you can take a guess what he told me to fix =P haha. and thanks to my buddy __**Altonish**__ who has now stranded me in cold snowy weather while he takes a holiday. i will be twiddling my thumbs waiting for his return._

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**Chapter 33: **

Sarah opens her eyes to the steady stream of sunlight filtering in through the window.

_Thursday morning. _

Her head feels like a lead weight and since she has no way of fighting against the natural pull of gravity, she sinks into the pillow as if she were being swallowed up by quicksand.

Groggily she drifts back to the warm lull of her dreams when suddenly she feels an arm around her waist tighten and the warm body of another press up against her.

Sarah's eyes snap wide open.

_Oh. _

Holding her breath, she pinches herself in case all this is still a dream.

It's not. The pinch stings and the weight of his arm continues to ensnare her, holding her close.

Sarah cranes her neck and nearly shakes with relief when she realizes they're in the guest bedroom and Chuck's asleep behind her.

Then the memories of the night before flash back and she wonders if things would be more bearable if she'd made the mistake with a complete stranger. Would it hurt a little less if she'd bawled her eyes out in front of someone she barely even knew?

Sarah allows herself to relax and secures his arm in place, living in the moment. She gazes at his unguarded expression and it's so peaceful she almost wishes she can remain here watching him sleep forever.

Chuck's head dips down and he nuzzles the crook of her neck, subconsciously taking in the scent of her. Sarah gasps but wills herself to stay still. This will all be over once he wakes.

Chuck's hand tightens around the fabric of her t-shirt and Sarah freezes up completely. Her skin prickles in anticipation but she won't allow herself to be the first to act.

"Chuck?" she whispers.

He opens his eyes drowsily and smiles.

_This can't be real. _

"Mornin'," he murmurs and closes his eyes again. He holds her closer and she almost wonders if she's woken up in an alternate reality.

"M-morning," she echoes, stunned.

He smiles again. "How'd you sleep?"

She blinks. "Great," Sarah answers cautiously. _Is he serious?_ After everything they've been through, after last night...it's as if the heartbreak, the tears, all those terrible things—never happened.

How did she go from completely alienating herself to basking in his arms in less than a week?

"Really great, actually," she reiterates when she realizes he's still waiting for her to speak up. "How about you?"

He gazes at her and when she meets those raw umber eyes, she wonders how much he's hiding from her. What's been buried can just as easily be unearthed and Sarah feels her hopes rapidly deflate at the realization she can never undo the events of the past.

Then Chuck smiles and her fears melt away. "Fine," he murmurs, inbetween a yawn. "Good." He buries his face into her arm, nuzzling the worn fabric of her shirt.

Sarah tenses and Chuck realizes his mistake a nanosecond too late.

"Sorry," he utters, a blush creeping rapidly to his cheeks. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," Sarah says. He begins to disentangle his limbs from hers but she's not quite ready to let go. "I don't mind. It's a bit of a weird sensation after all this time, but when you consider everything and..."

Sarah realizes she's rambling and quickly cuts off her monologue.

Chuck stops. "And?"

The way he stares makes her blush. She's sure he's never seen her under such harsh lighting before. "And I'm cold and all I'm wearing is this old shirt —" She realizes the mistake in her words the second they leave her mouth.

By then it's too late though and Chuck's face threatens to turn fire-truck red.

"Sorry, what I mean is—"

"It's okay." Chuck lies back down, sparing them both from another potential blunder. "I know what you're saying," he says as he hugs her close. "I don't mind either."

Sarah smiles softly to herself. She really doesn't mind; she's comfortable here.

_You're not supposed to be—_comfortable, that is.

She wonders what it is about Chuck that allows him to compromise all the walls she keeps in place to protect her heart.

She closes her eyes, and catalogues each point of contact. Her ankles rest against his calf and their bodies are pressed together until she can feel the points of his ribs and the hammering heartbeat that threatens to break through it. His face is mere millimetres from hers, their lips a hair's width apart, but the only thing that intermingles between them is the air.

Sarah won't dare ask for anything more. She already knows she doesn't deserve what she has and this is almost perfect.

"Thank you, Chuck," she utters, sighing with contentment.

He tucks the comforter closer around her. "What kind of host would I be if I let you freeze to death?"

She smiles weakly at the joke. "I mean, for not leaving me alone last night. I don't deserve your comfort but I do appreciate it."

The light in Chuck's eyes dim and it's clear that he knew exactly what she meant from the very start. "In all our years apart, I never _once_ wanted you to suffer."

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and she feels her breath catch in her throat.

"Honest," he reiterates. "All I ever wanted was for you to find some way to be happy again. If you couldn't do it around me…well, as I've said before, I didn't accept it but I understood it." Chuck gives her the wounded puppy-dog look and her guilty conscience refuses to let him go on.

She takes his hand before he can slip away from her and holds it close. She inhales to speak, but the words won't come out and it's only Chuck's reassuring warm eyes that give her the will to continue on. "I was horrible to you. I was awful at dealing with our problems and when they all started to multiply…" Sarah trails off and finishes her thought succinctly. "I was a terrible wife."

"Oh Sarah." Chuck sighs and she knows he's only collecting his thoughts to soften the inevitable blow. There's no way around it. Honesty was an ugly thing.

"I knew what I was getting into when I married you."

_Really?_ Sarah looks at him strangely. She can't imagine why he went through with it then. Who would knowingly lie flat on the tracks when they can already see the incoming train?

"The thing is," Chuck says. "I knew and I married you anyway." He smiles weakly at her. "We were happy for awhile, weren't we?"

Sarah swallows with great difficulty. Meeting his gaze was even harder. Were a few moments here and there worth all the pain they've put themselves through?

"I know it was tough for you after I quit going on missions and we spent so much time apart but things were looking up until… " Chuck swallows back the rest of his words. Even after all this time, the past is still too painful to speak of. "I don't think anyone can blame you for having a broken heart."

Sarah's eyes begin to sting so she turns and buries her face into Chuck's chest before he realizes she's about to fall apart. Chuck holds her as the ache in her chest she's tried so hard to push away come sweeping back to the forefront.

He's the only person to ever really understand her.

He's the only person who knows why there's so much pain.

It takes a while for her tears to stop and Chuck just holds her as the tears trickle down his chest.

"Sarah?" he asks, rubbing her back.

"What?" she replies, her voice little more than a strained whisper.

"Will you do something for me?"

"Of course Chuck, I'd do anything for you."

Jump off a cliff? Throw herself into oncoming traffic? Put a bullet through Hawkins in front of everyone he knows?

_Anything._

Chuck presses his forehead to hers, gazing at her so intently their eyelashes nearly tangle. It doesn't even make sense but his eyes are the clearest shade of brown she's ever seen. She hasn't seen such an open expression from him since the day they married.

He takes a deep breath, hesitating like he's about to say something dreadful and Sarah waits with twisted fascination at what it could be.

"Please stop blaming yourself for what happened."

Sarah looks away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. Her heart skips a beat and the sudden memory of a tragedy five years ago still feels too fresh in the back of her mind. The events of the last day have made it all too real.

"It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. We made the best decisions we could and it didn't work out the way we wanted. You have to let it go." He strokes her cheeks, his thumbs halting when they come in contact with the patches of hastily wiped tears. "Promise me, Sarah."

She doesn't say anything. All she can do is wonder how he can even ask that of her.

"Can _you_ do that?" she asks, reading his mind. She still remembers the way he looked at her that day in the hospital; it's the same look she had to bear for weeks afterwards every time she walked out the door or disappeared around a corner.

"Sarah. Promise me," he says.

She shakes her head. "No."

"You already agreed," Chuck protests.

It's true, but she can't bring herself to do it. She can't let Chuck absolve her of all her wrongdoing. He can't extinguish her torch of guilt, while he's still carrying the flame.

"You have to promise too," she insists

Chuck closes his eyes, shutting himself away and different as they may be in every other aspect of their lives and opinions; they're exactly the same in this one single point.

"Chuck?" she asks again. "It wasn't your fault." She wraps her fingers around his cropped hair, longing for the days of unruly curls and lost innocence.

When he finally looks at her again, she sees the immensity of the guilt and how it threatens to overshadow everything she so loved about him. She feels the weight on his shoulders as if they were transferred onto hers.

"How can you still be blaming yourself?" she asks.

The answer is simple. "How can you not?"

Chuck's not prone to anger, but she can see his emotions plainly. The tone he uses sounds almost like an accusation, and it seems he's determined to spend the rest of his life as a modern-day _Sisyphus, _devoting the rest of his days to an impossible task.

Five years and they've not made it one step since they left the hospital.

"I shouldn't have listened to the flash. I don't know what I was trying to prove. It was my fault and you were only trying to protect me."

"I made a choice, Chuck," Sarah says, though there had never really been a choice. She would have followed him to the edge of the world if it came to that.

She strokes his face, wishing she could smooth over all the worry lines.

"So did I," he says. "I knew why the CIA didn't listen to my flashes anymore. If I never told you—"

"_Chuck._" Sarah pulls back and closes her eyes. They've been over this a thousand times; she's concocted every possible scenario.

Quite simply it was a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time; wrong everything.

"If the bad intel was your fault then staying with the job was mine. We both knew something had to be done. You can't have it both ways. I won't forgive myself for any of it, unless you do too."

Sarah interlaces her fingers with his. _We're in this together. _

Chuck's head falls back against the pillow in defeat. He seems to be considering his options. "You'll really do it?" he asks. "If I agree, you'll stop blaming yourself?"

"I'll try if you'll try."

He searches her eyes and apparently finds whatever it is he's looking for.

"All right. I promise," he says.

Sarah nods in resignation. "Then I promise too." She rests against him as her heart breaks just a little. It's going to be difficult but she's good on her word. She will try.

Chuck understands just as well as she does that blaming herself won't change things. Time has made that very clear to both of them and she'd rather live knowing that Chuck doesn't hate her for what's happened, than continue with the easier option of simply hating herself.

"I'm going to make us some breakfast," Chuck says. "Are you hungry?"

"You can't leave, I'll freeze to death," Sarah teases lightly.

Chuck smirks back at her. "We can't stay here, we'll starve. Come on the world is still out there even if we stay here."

Sarah isn't entirely sure he's right about that.

"If there is one thing I learned from Archie after you left, it's that no matter what, you still have to get out of the bed in the morning. So what do you say, you want some breakfast?"

Sarah wants to shake her head. She wants to cling to him and never leave this bed. But it's Thursday already, and she can't hide forever.

"Sure," she sighs, already kicked out of heaven. .

Chuck smiles. "Great." He kisses her on the brow. "It'll only be a few minutes for me to whip something up."

Sarah smiles too, and she keeps smiling even after he's let go and left her in the bed too big for one.

"Great."

* * *

A part of Sarah is practically giddy as Chuck leaves. She's not exactly happy per say but it's as close as she's been in years. She pulls the covers up over her head and revels in the feeling of lying in a bed that smells like Chuck. Even with the heavy reminders of the worst moments of her life, she feels better than she can ever remember feeling.

She lets out a solitary laugh and buries herself underneath the comforter smiling a smile no one else can see. What little happiness she's found she wants to keep all to herself.

Sarah's careful to remove the happy expression as she flips the comforter up over her head. This was no laughing matter.

She has a mission to do. Chuck _needs _her.

How could she not have solved this case already?

Sarah shakes her head. The director is right; she's obviously not trying hard enough.

Sarah leaves the comfort of the bed which has grown cold without his presence. She shivers in the ratty old shirt she's used for a nightgown and hastily heads into the bathroom to get ready.

The reflection in the mirror causes her to stop dead in her tracks. She examines the figure behind the glass carefully, terrified by what she's bearing witness to. Her hair is tangled, her makeup from the previous day is smudged and her eyes are red and swollen.

_Chuck was cuddling with this?_ It's humiliating to know that he's seen her at her worst in so many ways this week. She's not sure where his trust in her comes from anymore but Sarah's determined to earn it for once.

Sarah takes a quick shower, then proceeds to brush her teeth, comb out her hair and fix her make-up because in all honesty, the woman looking back at her in the mirror has seen better days.

She returns to the guest bedroom and makes the bed for the first time all week, picks up all the pillows thrown onto the ground and the clothes she's haphazardly left on the floor the night before.

When she's done all she can, Sarah realizes it's still too soon. Chuck isn't a marvel in the kitchen and if she meets him downstairs now, she may unwittingly break the enchantment of this morning.

Was it selfish of her to want to keep these feelings for as long as she can?

Quietly she leaves the guest bedroom and enters the room next to it. It's in a similar state of disarray and Sarah knows she's to blame. Chuck has barely spent any time upstairs.

She makes the bed and collects Chuck's tux from the chair he's thrown it over, heading over to the closet to hang it up. She gives the jacket a good shake in the hopes it will shake out some of the wrinkles but the technique is as flawed as her logic.

The suit falls off the hanger and she snatches it hastily in mid-air before it crumples to the ground. Something _crinkles_ in her grasp and the noise causes Sarah to frown.

She reaches into the jacket pocket and pulls out a wrinkled slip of paper.

"A candy wrapper?" she wonders and the thought amuses her so much she laughs out loud. There were some things about her husband's perpetual boyish nature that she'll never tire of.

Her laughter dies in her throat though when she realizes what she's actually holding.

_Chuck. This isn't a game. Give them the code before someone really gets hurt. _

Sarah is stunned. Forget enchantments and promises, all thoughts of their honest conversation this morning have fizzled into thin air by the time she stomps down the stairs.

"When were you planning on telling me about this?" she demands. The note is already in a zip-lock bag and she waves the evidence in her hand, daring him to deny what was so clearly in plain sight.

Chuck frowns. "About what?"

"This!" Sarah thrusts the plastic baggie in front of him until it's impossible to miss.

"Sarah, I have no idea what that is, so I guess, never?"

"I found it in your tuxedo jacket," Sarah hands him the note and glares at him as he reads it.

"I… it was in my jacket?" he asks, a clear look of shock on his face.

"Yes!"

"Why were going through my jacket?" Chuck asks.

It's hardly the point, but Sarah blushes anyway. "I wasn't, I just thought maybe someone should hang it up before it gets completely wrinkled."

"_Right_..." Chuck shakes his head. "Because I saw how concerned you were about your dress last night."

"I was just cleaning up the mess upstairs. I thought it would be a nice thing to do… and that is _so_ not the point! Someone at the wedding put this in your pocket. Do you believe me now that one of your colleagues is in on it?"

"Come on, it could have been a waiter for all we know," Chuck says, jumping to his friends' defence.

"Why would a waiter threaten you?"

"It could have been a bad guy just pretending to be a waiter," Chuck offers.

"No way, we didn't even agree to go to that wedding until your last minute phone call. People didn't even think we were coming. This is on the event-hall's stationary. Someone at the party saw you there and slipped this note into your pocket. This is from the accomplice. I'm sure of it."

The acrid smell of burned pancakes wafts over to them.

"Damn it," Chuck mutters.

Sarah couldn't agree more, but then he walks away from the crucial moment. "Where are you going?" she demands. This conversation was far from over.

"The pancakes are burning."

"Pancakes? Who cares about pancakes? Someone at the wedding threatened you. Focus, Chuck! Who was close enough to you to slip you the note?"

"I don't know...you—"

"_Me?" _Sarah exclaims, her voice rising several octaves.

_Seriously? _

"Dick, Chris, Warren, most of the guys in the grooms' party? I didn't know all of them. Uh…" Chuck falters as he tries to remember everyone he talked to yesterday.

"Don't forget Becky Birch," Sarah offers.

"Oh, yeah..." Chuck nods. "But she wouldn't have…"

"Everyone is a suspect, Chuck. Until we solve this everyone at the wedding is a suspect."

Chuck sighs.

"Don't forget Archibald and Melinda Watts either," she adds.

Chuck rolls his eyes. "Okay...them too."

"Do you think you can get me a copy of the guest list?"

"Maybe." Chuck scratches his head. "Don't you think that will seem kind of suspicious?"

Sarah hardly gives it a thought. "One way or another we have to check out everybody at that wedding."

It's official. Forget rice, pasta and potatoes. Their staple diet has become pancakes. Following Sarah's impromptu interrogation, the two of them manage to sit down for a meal together that consisted solely of burnt pancakes.

She tries to remember all the times she's actually eaten since returning to LA and she can't remember eating anything but what's served in front of her. The few meals she ate out she hadn't really felt like eating at all.

"So...what have you got planned for today?" Chuck finally asks. She passes him the maple syrup and he drizzles a swimming pool sized serving on his plate.

"I need to take this down to the FBI crime lab," Sarah replies, holding up the note. "Since you didn't see anyone with rubber gloves on, that means there are finger prints on this. I want to run those prints through AFIS and see if I can get a hit on someone in the system."

Chuck takes a giant bite and smiles at her, his cheeks bulging with food.

"Anything else?" he mumbles.

"I've got some errands to run, yeah." Suddenly she's lost her appetite and she feels nauseous with dread. She doesn't want to leave Chuck's side, but the Director is apt to remind her of her job. "Speaking of which, what's your schedule today?"

Chuck ruminates on the thought. "Uh, I was planning on going to a morning seminar. Then maybe lunch?"

"What's the name of the seminar and who's giving it?"

"It's a talk on the design of a groundbreaking new game called Silent Thunder. It's being given by the lead designer Rakesh Pahuja."

"And that's from when to when?"

Chuck wrinkles his brows. "Ten to twelve?"

"And then you said lunch. Where do you plan on getting lunch?"

Chuck puts down his silverware. "Sarah," he says. "What are you doing?"

She smiles innocently up at him. "I need to run down some leads, but I don't think it's safe for you to be off on your own. I'm going to need you to be where you say you're going to be."

Chuck smiles and shakes his head. "Sarah, don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

She arches a brow and almost wishes she hadn't used half a bottle of concealer on herself this morning, perhaps then he'd see just how much danger he was really in.

"If you'd rather, I could call you on the top of every hour, but don't even think about ignoring my calls."

Chuck pouts and even the sugary sweetness of maple syrup can't turn his disappointment around. "Sarah, come on, it's a video game conference…"

"That I was kidnapped from two days ago!" He's already being difficult and she hasn't even mentioned what she really wants to do. "I find your lack of concern concerning."

"I know these people, Sarah!" he says. "They're harmless like Jeff and Lester."

Sarah resists the urge to simply roll her eyes. He's outgrown his BuyMore posse but the Jeff and Lester of the corporate world remain.

"So Hawkins will be there?"

He nods.

"And Kipling?"

He nods again.

"And Watts—"

"Archie," Chuck corrects. "And of course they're going to be there, we're in the same business together. We're practically all business partners one way or another."

"That's just great." Two prime suspects and one questionable friend. "I'm going with you."

"But I thought you wanted to run that through AFIS?" Sarah looks at the note. It's the best clue they have.

"Fine, I want a detailed schedule of your itinerary for today and you have to call me at regular intervals with updates. Especially, if you move around."

Chuck twists his lip. "How _regular_?"

"Chuck!"

"Okay, fine," he grumbles, stabbing his pancake in retaliation.

"And one more thing." Sarah takes a deep breath; if he's resisted her with these minor requests than he's really going to object to what she's about to say. "I want you to wear this."

She slides over a seemingly innocuous watch and he recognizes it instantly.

"Still going with the watches, huh?"

"I know how much you hate these things and I know it's an invasion of your privacy so I haven't asked you to wear it—until now. These people are serious trouble, Chuck. I would feel a lot better if you put it on. They've already shown they're willing to kidnap someone and I…"

Sarah takes a deep breath.

"I _care _about you and I don't think I could handle it if something terrible happening to you. Especially if all it would have taken to save you was making you wear this watch.

Chuck looks at her and then looks at the watch. He nods quietly. "You know the CIA could at least spring for something decent, I'd never wear something like this, it's totally ridiculous."

But after he says his piece he dutifully straps the watch on. Then he resumes eating his pancakes, munching with a distinctively melancholy expression.

"Oh and Chuck?" He turns his head back to her while still continuing to chew. "Could I borrow your car for the day?"

Chuck looks dubious. "The whole day?" he asks.

"I could get an agency car, but this would be easier and I've got a lot of stuff to do…"

"Am I going to see you for dinner?"

It's the most innocent of questions, but the way he says it makes it sound as if something will happen to her before then. Finally his eyes flash with worry but it's not for the person he should be worried for. His life was in danger, not hers.

"Of course."

It's a simple promise, but for a second he doesn't look like he trusts to leave her for such a long period of time.

Sarah digs into her bag and pulls out her cell. "You're supposed to check in with me every hour, remember?"

He smiles at that, as she knew he would. "Yeah. Okay."

Sarah clears her plate. "Well then I better get going. Do you want a ride or are you going to catch a cab?"

"Actually I was going to hitchhike," he deadpans.

"_Chuck_…"

He breaks into a winning smile. "Don't be such a worry wart, Sarah."

Sarah tries to smile but she can't put her whole heart into it.

She has a hundred reasons to worry, and one of them was sitting in a zip-lock bag on the table.


	34. Thursday B II

_A/N: ho hum. __**Altonish**__ is away on holidays and I'm at my desk studying laws and ethics. i know. life's just not fair. anyone wanna trade me?_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 34: **

Sarah strolls into the Los Angeles FBI office as if she's just walked into any old administrative building. With blond hair tied back in a flawless chignon and a pair of fake but altogether authoritative lenses, she saunters confidently down the parade of desks.

The office is quiet for the most part but the few who are working are working at double-speed, talking into their cell phones while scrambling with large overfilled binders.

The few who notice her sudden appearance stay mute. She eyes them with a look of someone far more important that they could ever be and easily wins before a staring contest even begins.

Sarah smiles to herself. With her three-inch heels, she's literally towering over the office drones and makeup can be a truly magical thing. She's never been more grateful for those extra few minutes she spent in front of the mirror this morning. There was something about a woman with visible bruises that made them a lot less charming.

The man at the evidence desk is engaged in an agitated conversation with someone on the other end of the phone. He completely ignores Sarah for a good five minutes before he even turns to look in her general direction.

"I said I would handle it!" he barks and with a huff, slams the phone down.

Sarah sees her opportunity and steps right up against the end of the table. "Hi," she greets, gifting him with one of her most dazzling smiles.

"Hi," he answers. Then, as if coming out of a trance, he shakes his head. "Can I help you?"

Sarah takes out her credentials and waves them in front of him, effectively killing any potential lecherous thoughts on his end.

"I'm working on a lead and I need this tested for prints and the prints run against AFIS." Sarah pulls out the note she'd bagged and sets it down on the counter between them. "I'm in a bit of a hurry," she adds. A polite way of saying he should sit up straight and start typing away on his computer—now.

"_Err_..." He leans back in his chair and twirls the pencil in his hand.

"Is there a problem?"

"Well, it's just all our FBI forensic labs west of the Mississippi are busy processing data from the bomb site."

"Bomb site?" Sarah asks. "What bomb site?"

The man rolls his eyes. "Don't you watch the news? A bomb detonated on the waterfront the day before yesterday. There's a huge crater where half of the old World War II Linfield aircraft bunker was." He waves idly at a TV monitor down the hall from them. "They've been running live news coverage about it since it happened."

"Uh..." Sarah feels her face grow hot when she realizes the man's giving her a funny look.

_Some CIA agent you are,_ he probably thinks.

"I've been kind of busy with my own case," she says with a casual shrug. "What happened exactly?"

"Damned if I know. Some crazy nuts were building a fertilizer bomb in an old cargo truck. Apparently it went off prematurely."

_Fertilizer bomb? _He has her attention now. "What were they trying to blow up?"

"Why do you think we're scrambling around like rats?" he growls. "Nobody knows." With a sigh he picks up the bagged note. "I can run the fingerprints for you but it's going to be a couple of days..."

Sarah barely hears him. Her eyes are hypnotized by the footage on the television screen. The sight of the rubble sends a chill down her spine.

"Yeah..." she whispers, shivering as a streak of phantom pain cuts through her bad shoulder. "Sure. As soon as you can would be great."

* * *

Sarah pulls the car into the parking lot underneath an impressive office building in downtown LA. _Star Hawk Electronic Arts _it reads in emblazoned bold letters running all along the glass.

Underground the same logo and abbreviations are painted on what seems like every available wall space. The impression was exactly the same as when she first received Hawkin's gold-plated business card; pompous and self-important.

_Nerd-E games was so much catchier,_ she grumbles as she tries to find the designated space. Chuck's parking sticker is still tagged to the rearview mirror and she gets through security without a hitch.

The front desk is another story.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, you're going to have to check-in."

Sarah looks longingly at the elevators and wonders if she should just make a mad dash for them. Alas, she decides to do this the hard way and walks up to the large circular desk.

"Hi. I'm Sarah Bartowski. I need to grab something from my husband's office."

Needless to say, the secretary's brows skyrocket.

"Mrs. _Charles_ Bartowski?" she clarifies, as if there was more than one Bartowski that headed a large branch of the company.

"Yes. My husband's at the convention but he's forgotten a couple of things for today in his office. I just need to pop in there and grab them for him."

"Well of course. Mr. Bartowski has an office here," the woman replies, still staring incredulously at her. "But he never uses it. He usually works out of the—"

"New York branch," Sarah quickly finishes, trying to get an edge. "I know. It's a proposal or something. He didn't think anyone would be interested but now he thinks he might have a buyer for it. Look, if I don't get it to my husband, he and Mr. Hawkins will be very angry. And I don't want to have to explain to them why I was late or why I couldn't get them the file they needed."

The woman bites her lips, fraught with indecision. "Of course not. But—" the woman looks unsure of herself. "Why didn't they have Delores bring it to them?"

"_Delores_?" Sarah asks, biting her lips to keep from laughing. She can't help the sudden image of an eighty-eight year old school-marm keeping watch over Chuck.

"The executive admin? I think she's in today. I can page her..."

"That won't be necessary," Sarah insists. "Chuck just asked me to run by and pick it up."

She begins to head towards the elevators before the conversation drags on for any longer. "It's really no problem, which floor?"

The doors open and Sarah hurries inside the metal enclosure.

"It's the fourteenth," the receptionist calls after her. "But I really think you should wait—"

The doors slide to a close before Sarah can heed the secretary's advice.

* * *

The elevator ride to the fourteenth floor seems to take an hour per floor. Finally the elevator dings and Sarah steps out.

"Mrs. Bartowski, I presume?"

Sarah whips around and has to stifle the gasp that threatens to escape her throat. Standing in front of her is a woman who could easily pass as a much younger body-double. The tall, athletic blond with piercing blue eyes extends her hand towards Sarah.

"Hi," she greets with a smile. "I'm Delores Chapman. Elizabeth called. Said you had some business in Mr. Bartowski's office?"

Sarah shook the woman's hand stiffly, instantly taking a dislike to her.

"Yes," she says. "He's asked me to stop by and pick something up for him."

The response only makes Delores frown. "There must be some mistake; it's been many months since Charles has been in the LA office. He usually works…"

"Out of the New York office. Yes, I know."

Delores's eyebrows rise slightly. "Yes, of course you'd know, but honestly his office has been locked for months."

Sarah shrugs. "He asked me to pick up the files because he couldn't come himself."

"Oh." Delores' smile wavers and for a second Sarah thinks she catches a telling look of disappointment. "Is there a reason he didn't just call?" she asks. "I'd have been happy to …"

"He wanted me to deliver them _personally_," Sarah asserts, growing tired of all these roadblocks.

"Oh! Is Mr. Bartowski unhappy with my work? He's always been very complimentary."

"I'm sure you're fine." Sarah waves her off. "I was going to be in the neighbourhood. It was no problem for me to run them back to the conference."

Delores frowns. "Well I suppose…" Hesitantly she turns. "It's just this way," she says and begins to walk down the hallway.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, much like the silence that elapsed between them. The admin eyes her suspiciously throughout, as if unsure but too afraid to challenge her identity.

The most annoying thing about all this was the fact Sarah had somehow managed to be unconvincing in a role that didn't require her to lie.

_Ridiculous._

"So is this your first time to LA?"

_And let the interrogation begin..._

"Uh no. Chuck and I actually lived here for a few years before we moved east."

Delores nods. "_Chuck_?" She wrinkles her brows. "I've never heard Mr. Bartowski referred to by that name before. He usually has us call him 'Charles'."

The look she gives Sarah makes her feel as if she's slipped up and called her own husband by the wrong name.

"Well I call him 'Chuck'," she clarifies, refusing to backtrack.

"What does he call you?"

"Sarah." Sarah gives her a funny look. "What else?"

The younger woman shrugs. "Something a little more endearing perhaps?"

"I hate endearments," she mutters under her breath. She still bristles anytime she hears someone call her 'darling'.

Delores catches what she says and visibly flinches. Struggling between following up on the comment or ignoring it altogether, she takes the latter and far easier route and stops at the end of the hallway.

"Mr. Bartowski's office is right over here," she says and holds the door, allowing Sarah to enter into the large foyer first.

There are several offices radiating from the main foyer and all have the lights shut off. There's only one source of illumination and it's the desk belonging to Delores Chapman, sitting squarely in the center between them all.

"So...is that Mr. Hawkins' office?" Sarah asks, ever so casually pointing across the way.

"Oh yes. It's been a very quiet week with everyone at the conference."

"Really? Who else is at the conference?"

"Well..." Delores points across the foyer. "Alex Templeton, our CFO, is there. And Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Bartowski, naturally. And Kurt Cunningham." She points to another darkened office. "And Dirk Dundle and Stan Mulroney; they're both relatively new to their positions so you might not have met them."

_Or any of them,_ Sarah thinks wryly.

Delores steps forward and unlocks the door to Chuck's office and lets Sarah inside his private domain. From the get-go, it's clear that Chuck doesn't spend a lot of time here; it's simply far too neat and orderly to foster his kind of genius.

The furnishing is tasteful but bare bones. There's not even a potted plant or wall painting to liven up the place.

Somehow Sarah doubts his office in New York is any different.

She's so caught up in taking in all of her surroundings that she doesn't realize Delores is standing by the door, watching her every move.

"You had something you needed to pick up for Mr. Bartowski?" she prompts, clearing her throat.

"Yeah, yeah," Sarah nods trying hide her irritation.

Was taking a moment or two so much to ask?

"Well if you tell me what it is I can help you look," the young woman offers.

Sarah growls quietly, ignoring her offer.

_Damn him. _It's uncharacteristic for Chuck to leave things so clean and bare. There's nothing on the table that remotely resembles a proposal or some sort of document for her to take.

Luckily there's still the filing cabinets to search through.

When Sarah raises her eyes off of the desk, Delores is still watching her, much to her chagrin.

She didn't need a baby sitter; though given her sudden appearance, she couldn't be blamed for being suspicious. Turning away, she begins to fiddle through his filing cabinet.

There isn't much in it and Sarah isn't particularly interested in Chuck's files. She trusts him.

Delores on the other hand...Sarah can sense the woman approaching from behind and just the thought of being watched made her shoulders clench. Sarah fights the urge to simply snap around and vent.

"You know...people always think it's me in this photo."

Sarah suppresses a grunt and turns around to see what the annoying admin is talking about. The young woman is holding a picture from Chuck's desk.

"I mean...I kind of see what they're saying," she continues, looking down at the photo wistfully. "But now that I've met you, I don't really see the resemblance. It's just funny that everyone immediately thinks it's me."

Delores begins to laugh and it's the kind of laugh that Sarah finds absolutely infuriating. It's the kind of carefree sound that only a person who doesn't count their blessings can make.

As if money grew on trees and happiness gushed from a never-ending stream.

It's a challenge, a dare— and Sarah remembers all too well her own delusional happiness before she realized the follies of tempting Fate.

"What do you think?" Delores holds up the photo and Sarah stubbornly focuses on the bottom of the filing cabinet.

"I don't think so," she mutters.

The comment only makes the young woman laugh again. "Right! I mean...can you imagine marrying someone you work with? That's _so_ unprofessional."

Sarah grinds down hard on her teeth and without even realizing it, her fingers have started to curl into her palm.

"It's a lovely photo," the young woman comments. "It's actually the happiest I've ever seen Mr. Bartowski." Sarah's anger quickly melts. "Sad that it's only in a photo though. He's always so serious in the office.

"Did you know we tried to throw him a birthday party at the New York office last year?" Delores shakes her head and puts the photo back on the desk. "What am I saying? Christina sent you like twenty invites.

"Mr. Bartowski said you were in France and couldn't make it. I didn't get to go, but apparently I heard it wasn't the best of times."

Sarah's hand reaches out on its own accord as she begs herself not to tear up. Shutting out the young woman voice completely, she takes the frame off the desk and holds it as carefully as she would a gold-sheet.

* * *

"_Sarah! Sarah, come on!" _

_It's the third time he's called out to her but Sarah's stood in the same spot as if she's suddenly taken root and fixed herself to the ground. _

_He holds out his hand but she shakes her head whilst trying to avoid all the stares coming their way. _

"_Sarah..." he calls again. _

_Finally he takes matters into his own hands and runs over to her. "Hey, come on. The photographer wants a few pictures for the album." _

_Sarah chews on her lips. Every little thing from the dress, to the flowers, to the rules and the room full of people staring, has made her feel as if she were chasing after the dangled carrot in vain. _

_When was she going to have her husband all to herself? _

"_Hey, Sarah, what's wrong?" Chuck asks, rubbing her shoulder gently. _

_Sarah bites down harder on her lips. She's being unfair to him. This is as much his day as it was hers, and she knows her new husband has a big heart. He doesn't hide things the way she does; he has enough happiness to share with the world. _

_And the first thing one ought to know about Sarah Walker is that despite being a Bartowski for all of half an hour, she doesn't share—can't, actually, because unlike Chuck, she knows that happiness doesn't last forever. With her father, it was as long as there was still some cash lying around the house; with her career it was as long as she fulfilled all her objectives. _

_There was nothing unconditional about happiness, which is why Chuck perplexes her to no end. What he's offering, it defies logic. _

"_I promise you'll be the most beautiful person in the photo," he teases, pressing his forehead against hers. "Guaranteed." _

_There's absolutely nothing that will bring him down today, that much she can tell by his smile. And however unwilling Sarah may be, he's got a look that can melt glaciers much less the cold, unfeeling heart of one insignificant agent. _

"_It's not that, Chuck." She cups his face with her palm and when he looks at her, she feels as if she's falling in love with him for the first time all over again. "I just...I don't like all these people staring at us. I don't like having all this attention." _

_Chuck smiles. "But they're our friends. And they're happy for us. Don't tell me you're embarrassed to be seen with me." _

_He looks devastated and Sarah immediately panics, stuttering on an explanation until she realizes he's merely teasing her again. _

"_Chuck!" she scolds. "You know it's not that. I just..."_

Please don't make me say it_, she begs but she realizes as his brown eyes grow more and more inquisitive, that he means to get to the very bottom of this. _

"_I'm a very private person," she says. "You know that." _

"_Okay," he replies, going along with her. _

"_And I just feel that..." Sarah runs out of words when she sees him looking expectantly back at her. He was so open, so trusting, so much more than she deserves. "What we have...I want to keep it all for ourselves." _

_She looks nervously up at him. "Is that wrong?" _

"_But it doesn't have to be a secret anymore," he reasons. "This is real, Sarah." He purposely holds her left hand up so that their newly adorned rings would glint most noticeably under the afternoon sun. "What we have is real." _

"_I know that, Chuck." _

_And then she realizes he doesn't—and will probably never—understand. Her father always taught her—'You keep the most important things to yourself'—like the things that are real, the things that matter. _

_Like everything to do with Chuck. _

_And like the stash of emergency funds her father slipped into a shoebox and buried in the back of one of their old homes; you have to hide the things that mean most to you. _

'Or else you're just going to tempt someone else to steal it all away.'

_She hugs him impulsively, throwing herself onto him and causing him to stumble back. They're both impractically dressed and she swears if he loses his footing she'll fall right over with him. _

"_I just don't want to lose you," she utters, holding him in a vice-like grip. _

_He kisses her gently on the brow, and then again on the lips. "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere." _

_He means to run his fingers through her hair but manages only to tangle them in her elaborately tied hair. A few strands run loose and he sheepishly tries to tuck them back in. _

_If Ellie or Sophie catches them, they'll never hear the end of it. _

"_I'm afraid, Sarah, that you're going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life." _

_Sarah laughs. "I don't see a problem with that." _

"_Good." Then he presses his forehead close against hers and smiles his trademark megawatt smile. "So...how about those photos?" _

_

* * *

_

Sarah's thumb traces the outline of the two figures; him dapper as ever in a suit, her in a white dress with a flowing train. It was a picture full of hope, the promise of a life together, of forever and ever.

It was supposed to be just the beginning.

There was never supposed to be an end.

And now all Sarah sees when she looks back at herself is a naïveté that would have made her father shake his head in shame. She's never said the words, but she's a sucker anyway.

A sucker for thinking they could beat the odds.

A sucker for allowing herself to feel emotions that only end in pain.

"Mrs. Bartowski?"

Sarah shakes herself out of her reverie and puts down the frame of their wedding photo. "Sorry. It's been a long time since I've thought about that day..."

The woman smiles. "I understand. I can't imagine it's easy being married to a workaholic."

Sarah shakes her head. "No, it's not," she says, but the stranger misses who she really means. "It makes for long nights alone and plenty of dinners for one."

Suddenly a ringer goes off.

"Oh, that's mine. Let me know if you need anything!" The young woman dashes out of the office to catch her phone.

Sarah watches her go and then puts the photo face down on the desk.

_Another time, a better life._

She edges over to the blinds in Chuck's office and peeks out at Delores. She's on the phone and while Sarah can't pick up the conversation, it's clear her attention is on the caller.

"Finally," she mutters.

Locking the office door, Sarah turns the blinds down and unzips her jacket, revealing her mission gear and harness. It was starting to get uncomfortable being bundled in all the unnecessary layers, especially when she didn't think the young woman would ever leave.

Sarah digs the climbing rigging out of her purse and quickly hops onto Chuck's desk, grateful that it was so uncharacteristically clutter free.

She removes the acoustical tile and pokes her head up in the ceiling and searches for what she needs.

"Perfect." A thick metal conduit.

She removes another tile because she doesn't think she can fit the tight space otherwise and readies her gear. Taking a deep breath, a last moment for doubt before it's kicked out the door, she springs off the desk, managing to get her fingers wrapped around the sturdy metal before she crashes back to the floor.

_That would be hard to explain._

Grimacing, Sarah swings her legs up and disappears into the ceiling. Her shoulder screams in protest and she's sure this is exactly what the doctor's advised against.

Once she has her legs wrapped around the pipe, she uses a free hand to attach a thick strap from her harness around the pipe. She lets out a sigh of relief and relaxes for a split second.

It's a theoretically simple procedure but the quick exercise has her breaking out in a sweat. She nurses the sore shoulder as she moulds her body against the narrow interior and shuffles towards Hawkins' office.

She moves quickly, blocking out the pain with the ever present fear of being caught. It takes her at least five minutes to get across the hallway and another two to find a safe spot to remove a ceiling tile.

She's not entirely satisfied with the position but Sarah clips a rope around the pipe and lowers herself silently into the CEO's office. It's much larger than Chuck's and ostentatiously decorated.

There's no especial theme; it's more a smorgasbord of expensive things—a dinosaur skull, a gargantuan Chinese Cloisonné vase, an old piece of tapestry that probably belonged to some fifth century king...that made the office feel like walking through a miniature Louvre.

Sarah shakes her head as she turns towards the wall behind his desk. There's a large portrait of Hawkins himself hung there.

"Lovely," she comments, walking over for a closer inspection. In truth she ought to commend the artist for her skill. It takes real talent to endow a flat canvas with Hawkins' larger than life leering smile and over-inflated ego.

Reaching behind the frame, she gives it a tug and the entire painting swings to the side revealing a wall-safe hiding in plain sight.

_Bad guys are so predictable. _

Sarah removes the digital-lock cracker from her satchel and runs the swipe card through the magnetic lock. For four agonizing minutes she stares while numbers flip by on the display.

Setting the device down, she sneaks over to the door and checks on Delores. The young woman is still speaking animatedly on the phone.

When Sarah gets back to the safe, most of the digits have been deciphered. It beeps softly when it finishes its job and a moment later spits out a swipe card and the corresponding PIN.

She almost wishes she could see the look on Hawkins' face if he were to see just how easily she had bypassed his security. People had far too much faith in technology.

Swiping the newly minted card and entering the appropriate series of numbers, the safe makes a soft-click noise and unlocks.

His wall safe is a treasure trove of incriminating material—not that she expected anything less from him. Sarah ignores the stacks of hundred dollar bills and clear packets of white powder and focuses on the paper documents.

It only takes a few minutes before she finds something that makes her suck in her breath. She quickly takes a few photos of the documents and places it back. There are a few other hairy documents but nothing that would tie Hawkins definitively to anything of import to Chuck or herself.

Satisfied that she didn't go through all this trouble for nothing, Sarah closes the safe, replaces the painting and shimmies back up the rope. She makes it almost all the way back to Chuck's office before she hears Delores' voice.

"Mrs. Bartowski, are you alright in there?"

Sarah grits her teeth and utters a few choice words as she carelessly bumps her shoulder in her haste. Moving at double-speed, she forces herself through the narrow confines as Delores' voice grows louder and louder.

"Mrs. Bartowski?" the young woman asks again. She tries to open the door which Sarah's luckily locked, buying her precious seconds. "Mrs. Bartowski?"

Sarah drops down onto the desk to the sound of a distinctive crack. She winces, the only comforting that being that it was the desk who had to suffer. She made a silent vow she'd replace it for Chuck before he noticed.

"Uhm...Mrs. Bartowski, what's going on?"

"Oh?" Sarah utters, trying not to sound so out of breath. "I think the door's jammed. Here, let me help you." Sarah barely has time to replace the ceiling tile and slip on her jacket again when the door bursts open and Delores steps inside.

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Bartowski?" she asks, a mixture of worry and suspicion on her otherwise perfect features.

Sarah nods. "Yeah, sorry. I was just on the phone..." she says, pulling her cell from her jacket pocket. "I didn't realize the door was stuck."

It wasn't jammed, it had been locked. They both understood the difference.

"Yeah...it does that sometimes," Delores finally concedes. No doubt she'll report this visit to Chuck and Sarah will have some explaining to do tonight. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes, thank you." Sarah pulls out any old manila folder and waves it in the air.

"Okay, great." Delores smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

The young woman disappears again and Sarah picks up the photo frame she'd stepped on in her haste to get down from the ceiling. There's a spider web of cracks across the glass frame now.

Sarah traces her thumb over the photograph one last time before she deposits the ruined frame into the trash bin.


	35. Thursday B III

_A/N: An update of this size so soon? Yup! Starting today i'm on winter break and i wanted to celebrate my newfound freeeeeeeeeeeeeeedom! _

_Hope you enjoy! _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 35: **

Sarah throws the folder and its meaningless contents into the back of the car and drives out of the downtown core. After cruising for a good fifteen minutes or so, she pulls the car into a local park and dials the Director's number.

The phone rings for several minutes but Sarah's persistent and stays on the line despite several offers to simply leave a message.

Finally she hears his ultra civil tone. "Ah, Agent Walker, so good to hear from you again," he greets, speaking as if he hasn't spoken to her in months. "How are things in Los Angeles? Is the good weather holding out?"

It was this particular brand of B.S. that drove Sarah nuts.

"It's been beautiful, yes," she replies, reluctantly playing along.

As if he really gave a damn.

"Good, good. And how are things at home?"

Sarah bristles. "They're fine," she clips and instantly feels like rolling up her sleeves and baring her teeth. He's treading on thin ice now.

"Really?" The Director sounds surprised. "I was under the impression that you and Mr. Bartowski are currently estranged. Though I must admit he seems quite eager to jump to your defence."

Despite sitting alone in Chuck's car in the middle of an abandoned park, Sarah couldn't help the color that rose to her cheeks. No one was watching but she was self-conscious all the same.

"Well despite our past, we've both tried to behave like adults during our time together," Sarah says, regrettably thinking of the chain of empty liquor bottles on the kitchen counter and all the tears she's shed in front of him.

_How very professional._

"Interesting." The Director clicks his tongue. "And has Mr. Bartowski managed to provide the intelligence we required?"

"Chuck's been very helpful," Sarah relents, keeping her responses vague where her husband was involved.

"I see. So you have the intel then?"

"_Er..._" Sarah hesitated. "Well." She bites her tongue. "No. Not yet. But—"

The Director sighs, implementing the full extent of his scathing compliments.

"Agent Walker, I must say that no matter how much I lower my expectations, you always find new ways to disappoint me."

"Sir..."

"You have one day left to get what we sent you there for. Do you even have any idea how you will be obtaining this information?"

"Chuck has access," Sarah blurts and immediately grits her teeth together, hating herself for not thinking of something better.

"Oh?" the Director crows. "So the venerable husband of Agent Walker _is_ involved."

"Not directly," she argues.

"Explain that to me, Agent Walker, how can he have access to the information if he is not involved?"

Sarah takes a deep breath to calm herself. When she speaks up again, she makes sure her tone is hard and to the point. "He called in a tip to the CIA because he was concerned about the business dealings of his partner. That hardly makes him a criminal, now does it?"

The Director isn't entirely convinced. "So you're saying he had absolutely nothing to do with this?"

Sarah hesitates for a split second and the moment costs her.

"So he _is_ responsible in some way," the man pries.

"His business partner, Hawkins, is dirty," Sarah explains.

"You have evidence of this?"

"I found a piece of correspondence hidden in his office. He's directing an outside source to short his company's stock. He's planning something that will collapse the company's stock price and make millions."

The Director is silent for a moment. "And?"

"And what?" Sarah asks.

"And how is that in any way a matter that concerns the CIA?" he demands. "Or have you suddenly become an investigator for the SEC?"

"Sir, he's involved in a criminal enterprise. These partners could be terrorists!"

The Director swore under his breath but it was loud enough for Sarah to hear and cringe at.

"That's the weakest piece of investigating I have ever seen from one of my agents. That's nothing—so he's a dirt bag, we already knew that. You were supposed to be looking into Kipling, not Hawkins."

"I have investigated Kipling, there's no way he can be the man we're looking for. He doesn't have the stomach for this kind of work." Desperate to give the Director something—anything—she fishes for leads.

"What about the terrorists?"

"What about them?"

"Well, I mean, can't we track this in another direction?" she asks. "I talked to the FBI, I know they're investigating. There has to be a reason they kidnapped me, it's all tied together."

"Precisely." For once the man agrees with her. "Can you explain to me, Agent Walker, how you failed to capture a single live terrorist?"

"But there were dozens in that building—"

"We've found four bodies among the rubble. Two of them were on international watch lists as possible mercenaries. The FBI has been turning the site over but they're only interested in the bombing...perhaps if you'd left us a little more to work with—"

"I did what I had to do," Sarah says stubbornly. If anything, he should be congratulating her for her quick thinking. She'd beaten incredible odds to get out of there alive.

"That's how it is with you, isn't it?" he demands. "Everything is just a means to survive another day."

Sarah bristles at the insinuation but since the man is essentially speaking the truth, she has no way to defend herself.

"I will remind you, Agent Walker, that you have one day left. If you don't resolve this matter in a satisfactory manner..." He let her mind wander to all the possible horrors before speaking again. "Well, you'll have to get creative on your means to survive another day and I'll be handling the next discussion with Mr. Bartowski personally. Am I clear?"

Silence.

"Agent Walker?"

Sarah sighs. "I understand."

* * *

Chuck calls dutifully to check in with her. The phone call with the Director and all its veiled threats has left Sarah notably shaken, and even when she tries to hide it from him, he senses that something is off.

"LA traffic not what you're used to?" he teases.

Sarah laughs weakly. "Maybe if I didn't have to drive such a puny little car..." she retorts, making her husband laugh back. The sound of his easy laughter is a sharp contrast to her own, and she doesn't understand how he can be so laid-back when all this calamity threatens to topple on top of them.

"Hey listen, you might get a call from your secretary. I had to visit the office for a bit."

"Oh?" Sarah can almost see the way his brows furrow together in confusion.

"I just wanted to have a look around, no big deal," she says, trying to downplay just how much effort it had really taken. "But I told her I needed to grab some files for you so just play along when she asks, okay?"

It's not really a question so Chuck doesn't answer as if it were one.

"Everything okay, Sarah?" he asks, the laughter in his tone now replaced by concern.

Sarah rubs her temples. "Absolutely," she says. "Don't worry, Chuck."

_I won't let you down. I swear. _

Chuck doesn't argue with her, doesn't push her for anything more.

"I've got to return to the presentation. I'll call you when we finish?"

"Sounds good," she replies, checking the time on her watch.

"And Sarah?"

"Hmm?" she murmurs as she gazes out at the vacant park.

"Stay safe, okay?"

Sarah smiles wryly. Trust Chuck to fear for _her_ safety instead of his own.

"Same to you."

"Okay. Bye, Sarah." There's a pause between them, and they both sense that something critical is missing.

Unspoken words hang over them.

"Bye, Chuck," she finally says.

_I love you too. _

_

* * *

_

Sarah rarely takes the time to delve into moral grey-zones. She likes things when they are black and white. Kill A, take B, save C; she likes commands that require little thought on her part. Because thinking will just lead to feelings and feelings are not something she's comfortable having in her line of work.

She's gotten good at getting the job done and leaving the ethics to someone else; someone else that still cares.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid..._Sarah's caught up admonishing herself. _You shouldn't have come here. There's no reason to come here. _

It's like purgatory but far worse. The moral grey-area is what has planted her between doing what she knows she has to do to be the kind of girl Chuck Bartowski deserves and dreading the potential for making things so much worse.

There's no way to win and despite the fact she's desperately running out of time, she's used up five whole precious minutes standing on the front step arguing with herself.

_Chuck would do the right thing._

Sarah closes her eyes and swears under her breath. Something about being around Chuck has brought her over-active conscience to the forefront again and frankly it sucked.

She was just about ready to turn around and stomp back to Chuck's car when the front door suddenly opens.

"Sarah?"

Sarah freezes like a deer in headlights. "M-melinda..." she stutters. "Uh...hi."

"What are you doing here?" the woman asks, stepping over the threshold.

"That's an excellent question," Sarah stalls. What _was_ she doing here? How was any of this going to help Chuck?

Unfortunately her mouth gets ahead of her. "I wanted to talk to you, do you have a minute?"

The woman's eyebrows shoot high on her forehead but she steps back and ushers Sarah inside. "Um, yeah sure."

Sarah takes care not to walk too deep inside the small mansion. It's always important to have an exit strategy in mind.

"Is Archibald at the conference?" she asks, scanning her surroundings for any sign of another being. It appears they are alone for now.

"Oh yeah, you know how it is. Work, work, work..." Melinda rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't have to tell you."

Sarah nods, a grim expression on her face. "Right." She knows all too well.

"This is a really nice place," she says, waving to the entry of the home.

Melinda nods. "Oh, thanks. Archie uses it when he's in LA. This is actually the first time I've been here in a couple years. I'm not really a huge fan of the coast-to-coast flights plus my mother lives out here."

The remark strikes Sarah as curious. "You don't get along with your mother?" she asks.

Melinda rolls her eyes. "Does anyone?"

Sarah laughs at that. "I wouldn't know," she says with a shrug. "I haven't seen mine since I was four."

Melinda winces. "Sorry. I didn't mean to...I mean I didn't know. My mother and I just rub each other the wrong way. We get along better with a few thousand miles between us. What happened to your mom?"

Sarah clams up when she realizes the personal information she's just let slip.

"Oh...uh...it's a long story." She drops the subject altogether and Melinda doesn't pry for anything more.

They end up spending a good thirty seconds standing silently in the entry, and Sarah's all too aware of just how awkward (and soon to be much worse) this all feels.

"So you had something you wanted to tell me?" Melinda prompts. "Do you want to come and sit down?"

The woman begins to walk towards another room but when she realizes Sarah isn't following behind, she stops.

"Uh..." Sarah hesitates. "I'm on a really tight schedule today and there's just something that happened. Something that I thought you should know."

Melinda stops and walks back towards her. "Okay," she says and crosses her arms.

"Um...I saw something at the wedding yesterday." Sarah takes a deep breath, wondering whether she should say this bluntly or soften the blow.

How would she react if someone accused the very same about Chuck?

Sarah hesitates. Simply put, she'd be furious, and she had a good feeling the same went for Chuck's friend.

"Yes?" Melinda asks and now there was really no way she can back out of this. She has to say it.

"Well I went into the back of the hall looking for Chuck and I stumbled across Archibald..." Sarah stops, sincerely hoping Melinda might be able to fill in the blanks for herself but the woman just stared blankly at her. "He was with another woman."

"So?"

"So...you know he sleeps with other women?" Sarah asks in shock.

Melinda's eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets. "What?" she squawks.

"I found him..._erm_..." How do you put this? Sarah struggled to find an euphemism. "_..._romantically entangled with the bride."

"You did not!" the woman snaps.

Sarah flushed with indignation. It's not easy for a serial liar to speak the truth; how dare she accuse her of such a thing?

"Well, yeah, actually I did."

"That's ridiculous. Archie would never do something like that." Melinda's eyes narrow. "What's your angle here? Have I done something to deserve this kind of garbage being brought into my home? Did Becky Birch say something about me and now you're doing her dirty work?"

"No!" Sarah exclaims, holding up her hands as a sign of truce. "I just...you've been really nice to me and when I saw your husband with some other woman...well I thought you should know."

Her good intentions are for naught. "Look." Melinda's voice is as brittle as it is frosty. "Archie and I may not be perfect but he would _never_ cheat on me. You don't even know him. I don't know what you saw or what you think you saw or how many glasses of champagne you've had, but it wasn't what you thought it was."

The jab about the drinking aside, it's still a struggle for Sarah to maintain her calm with Melinda.

"I'm really sorry, Melinda, but I know what I saw."

The woman takes a deep breath and in the silence that follows, Sarah hopes Melinda's finally accepted the facts for what they are.

"I really am sorry," Sarah repeats.

"Get out."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Get out!" Melinda practically shouts.

Sarah's at a loss. "But—"

"Get out of my house! I'm not listening to this garbage. Get the hell out! You're just like all those other sluts. I don't know what game you're playing but it isn't going to work. Archie is mine, do you hear me? He's mine and if I so much as see you talking to him, I'll make you wish you were never born."

The woman is absolutely livid and Sarah genuinely feels a streak of fear at the gruesome transformation.

"Melinda, I don't want—"

"GET OUT!" Melinda shrieks on the verge of a hysterical meltdown. Sarah freezes up, unsure what proper etiquette dictated she should do.

"I really am sorry," Sarah says, taking a step back and opening the door. "I just thought you would want to know."

She leaves and feels the rush of air as the door is slammed in her face.

_Well that went well, didn't it? _

Sarah reaches into her jacket pocket and considers phoning Chuck to give him a heads-up. His anticipated reaction was hardly encouraging.

Walking back to her car, Sarah slides in and rests her head on the steering wheel. She'd done what she thought was right but why then did she feel so terrible? There was just no way to win; the guilt of knowing and doing nothing has merely been replaced by the guilt of knowing she'd hurt one of Chuck's closest friends.

Every decision she's taken, every turn she's made has turned out to be the wrong one. She's made too many mistakes. she gets that.

And now she's ready to come to terms.

* * *

_Sarah steps out of the shower, feeling out of breath. The bathroom is hazy with steam and her reflection in the mirror is blurred. There's no way to see the bruise under her right eye, the cut on her lip, the gash on her forehead or the redness in her eyes. From here, she's completely and utterly whole. _

_Flipping open the medicine cabinet, she pops a few pills and finishes it off with a handful of tap-water. She's still in pain and even after two weeks of rest and therapy, there are days when she still feels like her heart's going to rip at the seams, days when she feels like she'll never be whole again. _

_Taking a few deep breaths, she waits until she's sure she has it all together before she dares leave her sanctuary. Chuck can't know; not about the pain or the pills or the nightmares; because then the guilt will just come flooding back and they will be back to where they started. _

_She finds him in the kitchen, standing over the griddle. Her face splits into a grin at the thought of sharing a Sunday morning together over pancakes and a crossword. It's been too long. _

"_Chuck?" she calls as she walks over to him. Her nose wrinkles at the offending smell. "Honey, I think something's burning." _

"_Huh?" Chuck shakes himself out of his daze and nearly drops the spatula in his hand in the process. "Oh, shoot, sorry..." _

_Sarah watches perplexed as he tries to scrape the burned remnants off a pancake off the bottom. It's not like him to mess up Sunday pancakes, and it's not like him to look so frustrated. _

"_Honey, it's okay." Sarah turns off the stovetop and takes the spatula out of his hands. "We'll just let it soak in the sink. I'll handle it." _

_His face falls as if he's just let her down for the hundredth time. "I'm really sorry." _

_Sarah wraps herself around his torso, letting her wet hair soak into his tee. _

"_It's just pancakes, Chuck," she reminds. "We'll have fruit or something." _

_He wraps his arms around her, pulling her in until their faces meet. They share a kiss, and he hesitates for only a second, but the second is all Sarah needs to realize his guilt. His eyes say it all when they gloss over her still visible wounds. _

"_I'm really sorry," he whispers again. _

"Chuck..._" she warns, looking away. "It's just pancakes." _

_He nods like he understands and goes to the fridge, leaving her to assess the mess on the kitchen counter. They've made pancakes hundreds of times, there's no excuse for the disarray. _

"_I'll get it, take a seat," he tells her. _

_Sarah pulls out a barstool and watches from the kitchen island as he removes a tub of yogurt and a few apples and oranges. His hands shake as he grabs a few spoons and a knife. _

"_Chuck." She grabs his hand and stops him before he has everything set down. "What's the matter?" _

_He looks at her and guilt is all there in his expression. He knows it too, which is why he turns away. _

"_Nothing. I'm just—" _

Don't say you're sorry,_ she pleaded silently. _

"_Nothing." He kisses her, but his lips are trembling and everything is off. She senses his fear and he can undoubtedly taste the remnants of bitter tears. _

"_Chuck." She looks at him in earnest. There was once a time when they told each other everything. _

"_I love you, Sarah," he declares. It comes out of nowhere, and after everything they've been through, it's a welcome change to the arguments and the guilt-trips. _

_Only when he says it, it feels like his love comes with a condition. An asterisk. There's something he isn't telling her. _

"_I—" she falters on the unspeakable. "I care about you too." _More than you'll ever know. _Unlike him, the way she feels is unconditional. _

_It's not what he wants to hear, but he knows it's the most she'll ever give and the meagre offering isn't lost on her. _

_He sighs and nods his head, but his disappointment is nearly palpable. _

What more do you want?

What is three little words to you?

_"Chuck? You know that...right?" she asks. There's an uneasy silence between them and when he doesn't immediately respond, she feels her heart break a little. _

_Finally he nods. "Of course I do." _

_Only he doesn't. And until she gives up her career, he never will. He probably thinks she's used the same words on a hundred other men to have her way. _

_Sarah clears her throat uncomfortably. "Did we get the paper today?" It's a stupid thing to ask, of course they did. Someone's delivered it to their front door every morning for the last year. "I'll get it—" _

_She gets off the barstool but Chuck jumps in her path and pushes her back. _

"_No!" he exclaims. She balks at the panic in his voice. "No, I'll get it." _

_A chill courses down her back but she ignores it. "Chuck, I'm not an invalid," she reminds. "I'm perfectly capable of getting the paper." _

_It's supposed to be a joke but Chuck doesn't laugh. He plants his feet into the ground as if he's rooted himself in place and refuses to move until Sarah's returned to her seat. _

"_I'll be just a second," he assures, and then he heads down the hall. _

_Her curiosity is piqued and Sarah searches for him once the grace period she's allotted him passes. She doesn't find him in the living room, the hallway or even at the front door where the paper is most likely to be. _

_No. He's outside digging through their garbage, rifling through what looks like the morning paper. It would have been a comical sight if her gut wasn't threatening to flip inside-out. _

_She's waiting for him at the door when he finally returns, crossword page in hand. He's left the rest of the paper in the garbage._

"_What's going on?" _

"_I spilled something on it so I had to throw it out." Chuck forces a smile. "But I have the crossword." _

"_Why didn't you just recycle it?" Chuck's taken off guard by her approach. "What did you spill on it?" _

"_Huh?" _

"_I'm asking you one last time, Chuck. What's going on?" She implored him with her eyes, begging him to look her. It's too difficult for him though, he looks down at his feet and Sarah knows if she wants the answer she'll have to find it herself. _

_He doesn't stand in her way this time and she walks out barefoot in her robe, rifling through the garbage for the newspaper. What a sight for the neighbours. _

_She retrieves the pages and returns back to the house. _

"_I don't know what you're talking about," she mutters. There isn't a stain on them. The pages are crisp and clean and—_

"_Oh my God." Everything falls out of her hand save for the front page. She clutches it, her eyes speeding through the article. She doesn't get through it nearly fast enough before the tears set in. _

"_I didn't want you to see it," Chuck said, rushing to steady her. His hands are strong but when he holds her, it's so gentle she barely feels his presence. "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you..." _

_He clutches her and she begins to cry freely, all the tears she's pent up for weeks. All the disappointment, the bitterness, the guilt...it all comes out because there's no shame in crying for someone else. _

"_I'm sorry," Chuck whispers, stroking her hair as if she were a child. "This is all my fault." _

_It's not about the paper or the pancakes. It's not even really about the tragedy in the news and they both know it. But this is the only way either can bear to hear it. _

_

* * *

_

Sarah pulls off Main Street and drives down the tree-lined boulevard. The weather is nothing but bright sunshine and clear skies and she thinks it must be fate because this is exactly Sophie's kind of thing. Sarah's always been more for the stay-at-home kind of weather herself, or perhaps she just enjoys using it as an excuse.

She parks the car and jaywalks across the street. It's been too long and she has only herself to blame. She's been a thoughtless friend and she only hopes the woman will forgive her.

She buys two coffees from a corner-street kiosk and makes her way into the park with her peace offering. Somehow a heart-to-heart just wouldn't feel right without coffee.

Sarah walks quickly over the neatly trimmed grass, careful not to disturb the peace. Even though she's the only one here, she still feels as if she's being watched. It's stupid really, but she's comforted by the realization all the same.

Finally she sees her friend. Same place as always and just as she remembered.

Tears Sarah didn't know she possessed suddenly fall unbidden down her cheeks and she's relieved that for once she doesn't have to hide how she really feels.

"Oh Sophie," she utters, sinking to the ground beside her.

She's greeted by stony silence but she imagines that Sophie's laughing, as she always did, at her newfound predicament. The memory is bittersweet and Sarah can barely choke out the words.

"I fucked up."


	36. Thursday B IV

_A/N: Oh happy day! **Altonish** is back!  
_

_Oh, hopefully this chapter will clear up what happened in chpt 35. If not, please consider re-reading chpt 15. _

* * *

**Chapter 36:**

_Sarah stares at the sad washed out woman in the mirror._

God._ She was a train wreck; a walking corpse. _

_She wipes the back of her hand across her chapped cheeks, made raw with harsh tears and a hasty scrubbing of soap. But nothing will wash out the puffy eyes and dark circles; they've become such a fixture on her features these last few weeks that they might as well be a permanent brand burned into her skin. _

_She hates looking this way. She hates the person staring back at her. _

_And most of all, she hates Sophie for leaving her at the exact moment Sarah needed her most. What she did was selfish and irresponsible and there was simply no excuse for it. _

_Suddenly there's a quiet knock at the door. _

_Sarah ignores it and fishes through her make-up bag, angrily grabbing a bottle of concealer. _

_Sophie had been an idiot. Where had she learned to be so damn reckless? _

_Didn't she know she had a family who needed her?_

_Didn't she know she had people who depended on her? _

"_Sarah?" a worried voice asks through the door. "Sarah, are you okay?" _

_Sarah grinds her teeth, caught between the sudden urge to burst into tears and shouting a string of curses. _

_There's a knock again at the door. _

"_S-sarah? _

_Sarah slams the concealer bottle on the counter and snatches the door handle, yanking it open with such violence the door swings into the wall and bounces back. _

_Chuck winces as the door nearly slams back in his face from the recoil. _

"_What?" she snaps, letting her anger chase out the grief. She refuses to be vulnerable in front of anyone, least of all him. There's no one left. Sophie's gone, Ellie's abroad and all Sarah has is Chuck. _

"_What do you want?" she demands when Chuck hasn't said a word. _

Do you want a fight?_ because at this point fighting has become easier than talking and she's ready to give him exactly what he wants. No more compromises, no more middle-ground. Talk is cheap and she sees how this is going to end; why must they stall the inevitable? _

_Her sudden mean streak doesn't phase Chuck one bit. "I just..." He swallows slowly and reaches out to take her hand. It happens before she has time to resist and his simple touch is enough to make her tremble. Just like that, all the walls she's built for herself threaten to crumble down. _

"_I wanted to make sure you were okay," he says, and when she gets a good look at him, she realizes that even though Sophie had been _her _friend, things haven't been easy for Chuck. His hair isn't right, the curls lie limp and matted against his head and his eyes are rimmed red. She doesn't even remember the last time either of them ate. _

"_I'm fine," she says. "Why wouldn't I be?" Then, before he can answer she repeats herself. "I'm fine." _

_Chuck takes a step closer and leans against the door jam. "It's okay to be angry." _

_Sarah flinches. "I'm not angry," she refutes, shying away. Distractedly she reaches for the bottle of concealer again. _

"_Okay." Chuck drops the subject but he lingers by her side in watchful waiting. _

_Sarah sighs and puts down the bottle in her hand. "It's just...what she did was really stupid! What the hell was she thinking—"_

She wasn't.

_How could she? _

_Chuck sighs. "She saved those people, Sarah, they wouldn't have made it out of there if she'd hadn't..."_

_Sarah shakes her head. There were no excuses. "There had to be another way!" _

"_She's a hero, Sarah." Chuck reached out to try and sooth her shoulder but Sarah jerks away._

"_She was stupid! She had a family! Sophie should have let someone else do it!" Sarah knows she's talking as much about Sophie as she is herself, but it's easier to put all the blame on someone who can no longer defend herself._

"_You don't mean that." Chuck frowns sadly. "Those people had families too and it's not like Sophie to let someone else take the risks. I'm not saying she did the wrong thing, but she did what she thought was right."_

_Sarah shakes her head._

"_She left me!" Sarah exclaims and before she even realizes it, tears are streaming down her cheeks all over again. "Damn it!" she screams, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. _

_Chuck's impassive expression crumples and he walks over, wrapping his arms around her. _

"_It's okay," he whispers, rubbing her back. "It's okay." _

"_No! It's not okay!" Sarah cries, muffling her sobs into his shirt. "It's not okay!" _

_Sarah resists but Chuck refuses to let go and ultimately all she's looking for is a place to hide. Alone in the bathroom or in Chuck's arms, it didn't change a damn thing. _

_Chuck holds her tighter against him. "I promise you it will be," he soothes. "_Shh..._I promise you..." _

_Sarah shakes her head. _Lies. All lies.

_But the biggest lie of all was the one Sophie had led her to believe. _

_

* * *

_The tombstone's meagre in its descriptions.

_Sophie Engels _

_Faithful defender, loving wife and mother. _

It's a perfectly sufficient inscription but utterly inadequate when it came to describing what she meant to Sarah. And in the end, it's probably better this way. They'd both been private people and there was nothing private about having all your grief and sorrow out for show. At least this way Sophie could continue her anonymity and quiet existence in this peaceful cemetery.

Sarah stares at the slightly faded lettering, tracing her fingers into the carved grooves.

"Damn it, Sophie," Sarah muttered. "Why did you have to die? You would have fixed all this." Sarah huffed trying to keep the tears out of her eyes. "It should be me down there, you know?"

There have been so many close calls. So many times when it should have been her six feet under.

"I don't think I can do this, Sophie. Not alone. I'm scared and I need help... I...

"Sarah?"

Sarah turns and sees the last person she expected and definitely not one she wanted to see today.

"Sarah? Is that you?"

Sarah snaps out of her reverie and hastily tries to wipe the tears off her face with the back of her hand as she scrambles back to her feet.

She feels as if she's being visited by a ghost. It's amazing how the body can continue to trudge onwards long after the soul has died.

"C-Carl!" she utters in surprise. Nervously she dusts her jacket free of bits of dead grass and dirt.

"Sarah Bartowski, we meet again," he declares, gifting her with a smile. Sarah wonders how often the man allows himself that. She feels an insurmountable amount of guilt for a crime she's never committed; as if she could have prevented it all.

He doesn't want her pity though, he never did and she'd be doing him an injustice by taking away what dignity he has left.

"Carl..." She walks up to the man, only then noticing the girl hiding meekly behind him. "Hello, Car—" She catches herself before she makes the blunder. "Hello, Sophia."

The girl stares down at the ground, refusing to make eye contact.

"Hey, Soph, it's okay." Carl rests a comforting hand on the back of the girl's head, coaxing her to venture out from her hiding place. "You remember Sarah, don't you?"

The girl shakes her head but when she looks up, it's Sophie's piercing blue eyes Sarah sees instead.

There are no excuses for what she's done.

No justifications great enough to absolve her guilt.

She's a fuck-up and if Sophie were here, she'd tell her so.

"I-I thought I'd come visit..." Sarah swallows with great difficulty and when the little girl stares at her with those familiar blue eyes it's just not right. If this were Sophie she'd laugh and tell Sarah how to fix it. Little Sophia's just another reminder of what Sarah's missing.

Carl smiles sadly. "Sophie would have liked that," he says waving at the coffee cups. "She did love coffee."

"Sophie was a good friend," Sarah says, which says a lot in its own right. Sarah doesn't have many friends and now she's not so sure she has any.

* * *

_Sarah doesn't trust herself to wear make-up. She looks awful now but she knows she'll look ten times worse when she has another breakdown—and she knows she'll have another. She's barely held it together for the car ride and she doesn't know how much longer she can manage. _

"_Hey." Chuck grabs her hand just as she's about to knock on the door. She looks at him with her watershed eyes and by some miracle, he doesn't flinch. He looks her square in the eye and wraps his arm around her waist. "You don't have to do this. We don't have to go in if you don't want to." _

_What he means to say is—he doesn't want her to. Sophie was always more her friend than his and he sees what this is doing to her. He knows she's lost something he can't replace. _

"_I want to," she whispers. It would be wrong if they didn't. And frankly, she's looking forward to grieving with people who don't feel the need to tell her that everything will be okay. She wants to be selfish and cry without worrying about Chuck. She wants to cry without worrying what her tears are doing to him. _

_They enter the home and it's as if they've stepped inside a tomb. The summer heat has no way of penetrating the bitter cold rooms and there's an emptiness that Sarah can't explain. _

_It sinks its talons into her heart and she feels as if it's happening to her all over again. Like she's just woken up in the hospital bed and Chuck is standing over her, shaking his head. _

Hollow.

_The house and everything in it feels so hollow. _

_"You must be Sarah," the woman, presumably Carl's sister, greets. Like Sarah, Sophie had been an only child. "I'm Nell. Thank you for coming." _

_"Of course," Sarah utters, purely out of reflex. There was no question that she would come. _

_As they walk into the main room, Sarah sees Sophie's daughter sitting in an armchair, hugging a stuffed bear. _

_"Hello—" Sarah's caught by something that had once been so simple. Should she refer to her still by the nickname favoured by her mother or would her father's nickname for her now prevail? _

"_Hello…Caroline." There's no way to win and she calls her by a name neither parents have ever really used. _

_The girl doesn't make eye-contact, doesn't even respond. It frightens her how lifeless and still the once rambunctious child has become. She doesn't even look sad; just broken. _

_Sarah doesn't try to engage the child in a conversation a second time. She knows all too well how it feels to withdraw into a protective shell and she thinks it might be too cruel of her to force the child to face reality. _

"_Carl is waiting for you upstairs," Nell says, placing a gentle hand on the little girl's shoulder._

_Sarah nods and only hopes she's more help to him than she has been for the little girl. When Chuck takes Sarah's hand though and makes to head for the stairs, Nell clarifies her meaning. _

"_Just you. Carl has said he will only see you," she says, looking at Sarah. _

_Chuck looks conflicted by the information. _

What harm could come out of meeting a widower?_ she wants to ask. _

_The answer is clear in his eyes. _Plenty_. Especially when they are a couple Sarah's long drawn parallels to. _

_"I won't be long," she promises and Chuck has no choice but to accept the circumstances. _

_Sarah finds Carl in his study, nursing a glass of something strong. It's a sunny afternoon but you would never know it with the curtains drawn and the lights dimmed. _

_"Hello Carl. It's me, Sarah." Sarah opens her mouth to say more. She wants to ask after him, to know how he's been holding up but given the circumstances, it's an insensitive thing to ask. He's just lost his wife and been released from the hospital. If the cast wrapped over his leg and IV drip hanging next to his wheelchair isn't evidence enough, then the soullessness of his eyes should suffice to say it all. _

_Sarah sinks slowly in the seat across from him. Even with the two of them in the study, the emptiness eats away at her. _

_"I'm so sorry." Tears start to spring forth and she doesn't hide them. Why shouldn't she mourn for her friend? For a life lost? _

_"Don't be. She died doing what she loved," he croaks, barely able to contain his own tears. He says it with only a trace amount of bitterness but Sarah picks it out easily enough. She's heard it in Chuck's voice enough times to detect even the most miniscule hints. _

_"She loved you," Sarah says, and she wonders who she's validating now.  
"More than anything. You know that." _

_"She loved the job," he whispers, gazing at the portrait in his hand. _

I wasn't enough._ He doesn't say it but he doesn't need to. Sarah is all too familiar with this banter._

_"She did, but she loved you more," she says. "You _know_ that." _

You have to.

Please just say it.

_Sarah glares at him, willing him to admit it. Because it he won't acknowledge that then what hope did she have for Chuck? _

_Carl shakes his head. "It was my fault. I should have done more." _

_"No!" Sarah exclaims, nearly springing to her feet. Her first fear is that Carl will do something rash but it seems he's already a step ahead of her. _

_She never did ask how he'd ended up in the hospital. _

_"It was," Carl says and the conviction he has when he says it frightens her. She's seen that look of determination from someone else before. _

_This is a foreshadowing of things to come._

"_I made a choice. I wanted a normal life." _

_"There was nothing you could have done." _

_"I should have accepted the offer—" _

_She's gone down this road once before. Sarah already knows her response. "You couldn't have been a field agent, it wasn't for you—" _

_Carl is adamant though. "I should have stopped her. I should have forced her to give it up. I should have made her stay." The man falls silent and it's only when he begins to visibly shake that Sarah realizes he's struggling to hold himself together. _

_"Five minutes..." he croaks. "If they had gotten there five minutes faster— there was so much blood and I could barely move…" Carl shakes his head like he doesn't understand how he couldn't have saved her. _

_Sarah doesn't say anything; she can't. Carl's defeated voice has struck a nerve and left her paralyzed. It's not Sophie's husband she's sitting across from anymore, it's hers. _

_This is a vision of her future. It's her dear sweet Chuck, mangled and in a cast, trapped in a wheelchair. It's his hollow and lifeless eyes she's staring into as he broods all alone with the curtains drawn in their empty home. _

_Sooner or later, something was going to happen. If she's lucky it'll end like it did for Sophie. _

_And Chuck will do one of two things. He'll either do something terribly stupid and join her six feet under or he'll end up like Carl. _

_Either way, it's no way to end. _

_._

_Sarah leaves the Engels residence visibly shaken. She can barely make her way down the stairs and Chuck has to literally carry her to the car. _

_Even when she doesn't say anything, he knows. _

_"They're nothing like us," he refutes, staring down the road with fierce determination as he drives. He speeds for the first time in his life, never more eager to leave the place. _

_But they are. Even their initials match; Carl and Sophie, Chuck and Sarah. _

_"It won't be us, Sarah," he promises, clenching and unclenching his jaw. _

_Sarah looks at him, afraid to ask the obvious. _

How can you know?

* * *

Sarah wants to decline when Carl extends the offer for a cup of coffee with him and Sophia but she can't bring herself to deny him. He has so little and she's not sure how he's able to smile these days, but he does.

They walk the few blocks from the cemetery together and when she steps inside, it's like a lead weight crushing her chest.

This is _their_ diner, the same one they always met at, and she hasn't stepped foot in here since the last time they were together.

Sarah doesn't believe in ghosts, but she can feel the chill in her spine as she takes in the setting. Five years Sophie's been gone, but Sarah wouldn't be surprised at all to see her sitting at their table waiting for her to come in and tell her how she 'fucked up' again.

Carl sits down at the booth and waves for Sarah to join him but she only looks uncomfortably at the vinyl seat.

"I…" Sarah starts, but she can't finish her thought.

"It's only coffee," Carl says. Sophia sits down next to her father and Sarah sits down across from her.

"What would you like?" Carl asks, without even picking up the menu.

Sophia shrugs and in a way so reminiscent of her mother, says: "The usual." Then she tilts her head and looks at Sarah strangely. "What?"

Sarah shakes her head. "Nothing," she utters, embarrassed to have been caught staring. For a split second she could have sworn she was with Sophie again.

They make their orders. Black coffee for Sarah, decaf for Carl and hot chocolate for Sophia.

"How do you do it?" she asks Carl, once the waitress has left.

_How do you keep living when what matters most to you is gone?_

Carl puts his arm around Sophia. "You keep going on, because that's what the people who love you would want. We get by. It was hard at first, but we make do. Don't we?" Carl asks Sophia.

The girl nods and Carl pulls her over and kisses the crown of her head. Sometimes she forgets that Carl didn't lose everything. It makes her wonder how differently her life would have turned out had she been in a different part of town that afternoon, if she had taken a different route than usual, if for once she didn't ask Chuck what was bothering him.

_Could have—should have—would have—_

The waitress returns with their orders and Sarah snaps out of her thoughts. The past was in the past.

"Some days are easier than others, but Sophie wouldn't have wanted us to waste our lives."

Sarah stares at him and she doesn't have any doubt he's talking about her not himself.

"I heard about what happened," he says. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I should have noticed… "

Sarah fiddles with the handle of her mug. She doesn't know what he means; so many things 'happened', it's hard to pinpoint one as the ultimate tragedy.

"It was a long time ago," she says, and even as she speaks, the dull ache flares up to remind her once more that time does not, in fact, heal all wounds.

"I saw Chuck a couple times after you left and before he fled too." Carl smiles. They're done with dancing around the issues. "We had some good talks."

The man manages to coax a smile out of her. "About what?" she asks slyly, as if there was any question.

"You and Sophie hit it off right from the start...but Chuck...he took some time to warm up to."

_Nothing like a tragedy to bring people together_.

"He understands why you did it." Carl reached across and held her hand, forcing her to look up at him. "He never blamed you, not really."

A part of her wonders if he's speaking to his dead wife, or if he's speaking on behalf of Chuck.

Sarah needs to change the subject before she suffocates. "How are you and...Sophia?" Sarah was still so used to calling the little girl by her mother's preferred moniker and now it seems they've done away with that name altogether. Carl finally has his way, only in the very worst of circumstances.

Carl sighs and smiles wistfully. "We get by," he says quietly. He looks to his daughter but she's pulled out a handheld video game and is deaf to the both of them. "She's so much like her mother," he whispers.

Sarah wonders if it's a blessing or a curse—to be constantly reminded of the things you've lost. Tears threaten to blind her vision and Sarah looks out the diner window at the idyllic afternoon scene.

"I miss Sophie, very much, but I wouldn't trade what we had, to save myself the pain."

Sarah nods in understanding. She thinks back to the first time she met her husband. That beautiful head of curls, those kind eyes, that charming smile. She'd known, no longer than thirty seconds after their introduction, that he was something more.

And on the day of their wedding, all the weeks of indecision and regret and doubt left the second she promised herself to him. She had been so happy, the happiest she'd ever known, then.

"Sarah?"

"Sarah?"

Sarah stirred from her thoughts. She flushed with embarrassment when she realized she had started daydreaming.

"Huh?"

Carl nudges his daughter in the ribs, forcing her to put her game console away.

"Mrs. Bartowski, will you order a milkshake with me?"

Sarah doesn't quite understand until she sees the little girl look longingly at the long line of bar stools up against the counter.

Carl nods his encouragement and Sarah has to wonder if Sophia remembers any of the time they spent together or whether she's done this at her father's request.

"Of course."

Carl nudges his daughter again. "At the counter?" she adds.

Sarah smiles sadly. It's so terribly difficult for her to imagine this quiet, timid child as the same rambunctious toddler she once knew.

"But then who will keep your father company?"

The girl shrugs and smiles for the first time. "Oh don't worry about Dad, he's always alone."

Carl's smile trembles but he holds it for his daughter's sake.

"I'll be fine," he assures once he catches Sarah's conflicted look. "Don't you worry about me," he adds and waves them off.

Sarah slips out of the booth and takes a seat with Sophia at the counter. The little girl still orders a chocolate milkshake with not one but two maraschino cherries on top and Sarah orders a banana milkshake with whipped topping for old times' sake.

They sit for awhile in silence, both just staring at their drinks. Sarah's not one for conversation, and she's not sure about the little girl.

She asks after all the usual things. How she likes school, what she does for fun, whether she's got plans for Thanksgiving. Sophia gives one-word responses punctuated by the occasional grunt or nod. It's a long conversation with little being said.

Under no circumstance does Sarah mention Sophia's mother; she doesn't even dare ask whether the girl misses being called 'Carly'.

Five years is not enough time.

When they've exhausted pretty much every appropriate question under the sun, Sarah gives up and they go back to drinking in silence. There's only so much of the sugar she can take before it nauseates her though, especially compared to her usual drink of choice, and Sarah's soon left out of things to say.

She gives a concerned look over her shoulder, just to check up on Carl but the man is busy typing into his phone.

"Don't worry. I told you, he's always on his own. He doesn't get lonely," Sophia explains, hardly taking a backwards glance.

_Or perhaps loneliness has become the status quo. _

"What about you, do you get lonely?"

Sophia shrugs. "Sometimes, but I'm used to it." She eyes her warily with those piercing blue eyes again. Sophie's eyes. "Do _you_ get lonely?"

Sarah smiles sadly. "All the time," she confesses.

Is it still loneliness if it never stops?

"But you're married," the little girl argues, pointing to her wedding ring.

Sarah's skin prickles at the reminder and she has to remind herself not to spill so many of her problems onto someone so young.

"Married people get lonely too," Sarah argues back.

Sophia shakes her head. "No, they can't."

"Oh really? And just why not?" Sarah tries to say it teasingly, but it's hard. Doesn't she realize that fifty percent of marriages end in divorce in this day and age? Doesn't she realize that happily ever after doesn't exist?

Sarah blinks and holds her tongue. No matter the resemblance, this wasn't Sophie sitting beside her and Sarah didn't need to spoil whatever innocence she had left.

"Because you're _married,_" Sophia informs, as if Sarah's an idiot. "The whole point of being married is so you never have to be alone."

She says it almost like an accusation. As if Sarah had no right to be lonely.

"You're right," she whispers. A sudden tightness grows in her chest and it's as if someone were trying to claw out her heart. "I don't have a good excuse to be lonely." Sarah tries to smile, but it's a weak effort

Sophia smiles back but it's equally half-hearted. "Lucky you," she declares, the sarcasm dripping from her words like the sticky sweet milkshake from the glass.

Sarah can barely hold herself together but by some miracle she does. "Lucky me," she utters and has to turn her body away to hide her tears.

That's when she sees him. It's Chuck...sitting across from Carl at the booth.

_Sneaky bastard,_ she thinks, though she's not entirely willing to admit she let Carl pull a fast-one on her.

"Didn't see it coming?" Sophia asks without even a backwards glance. It makes Sarah wonder just how much of this Carl has planned. "I thought you worked with my mom."

Sarah flushes with embarrassment. Even a ten year old could tell she sucked at her job.

"Your mom was much better at her job than I was."

The little girls grunts. "Doubt that," she says and for the first time, Sarah catches an edge to her words.

Retreating from thin ice, Sarah changes the topic. "What do you think they're talking about?"

"You." Sophia takes a giant slurp of her milkshake.

"Me?" Sarah asks, surprised. "What about me?"

"I don't know. Uncle Chuck and Dad always talk about you."

The remark, spoken so off-handedly, only makes Sarah blush all the harder. "Why would they do that?"

Sophia seems to consider the question with a look of seriousness uncanny for her young age. "Sometimes talking makes it hurt less."

Sarah feels her breath catch in her throat. "What will hurt less?" she asks, though she should know better than to dig herself deeper.

Sophia looks up at her and but it's her old friend's scrutinizing blue eyes Sarah sees instead. Sarah knows the pain all too well.

"Being left behind."

Sarah swallows with difficulty. "Do..." She's not sure she's the most qualified for this sort of thing, but she feels she should at least try. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Sophia shakes her head. "It's not the same," she says. "She's not coming back."

The little girl resumes drinking her milkshake with a despondent look. Sarah feels like she's wrongly tripped over a nerve. It was never her intention to upset anyone, especially not a child.

"What she did was really rotten," Sophia finally offers, glaring at the inanimate glass in front of her.

Sarah sighs. "It was, wasn't it?"

_Leaving without saying goodbye. _

_Making promises she couldn't keep. _

_Stranding her when she was most needed. _

The specifics weren't important. What mattered was that Sarah had loved her and Sophie had let her down.

"She couldn't help it. She did what she thought was right." Sarah looks to the girl and hopes she can at least understand that much. "She loved you more than anything."

Sophia turns to her and her brilliant blue eyes seem to question just that.

_She loved her job more. _

How can she refute that?

"You left Uncle Chuck."

Sarah feels as if she's been slapped. So much for treading gently; the little girl's just jumped head-first into the fray and pulled her along for the ride.

_God._ Like mother, like daughter. Bluntness is apparently a family trait.

"Yes…yes, I did," Sarah says, not about to deny her own sins.

"I guess that makes you a pretty rotten person too, huh?" she asks, though it's not really a question. Sophia's judgement falls harsh and unrelenting. "Except you didn't really have a reason. You just left."

"I had my reasons," Sarah replies defensively and she has to remind herself over and over again that she wasn't speaking to her best friend but a child. It's the only way she can keep from raising her voice. "I did what I thought was right."

Sophia narrows her eyes at her. "Yeah…I'll bet you loved Uncle Chuck more than anything too, huh?"

When she sees the first hint of tears in the little girl's eyes, she wonders if they're still talking about Sarah's actions.

"I'm sorry," Sarah utters.

_I wish it had been me instead. _

_I wish I could have saved her. _

"I wish things could be different."

Sophie stares at her from behind her daughter's eyes. "Lucky you, then, Uncle Chuck's still here."

Sarah shudders under the familiar gaze and stands up quickly. "Let's get you back to your dad, shall we?" she says quickly with a wavering smile.


	37. Thursday B V

_A/N: Previously on Second Chance: Sarah returns to LA after 5 long years on a mission to prevent an exchange of sensitive information. She's asked to resume the "cover" of wife to Chuck Bartowski, who happens to be her estranged husband. Prior flashbacks reveal that while their marriage was real and they were happy for a short period of time, Chuck left the spy world behind and Sarah couldn't. The loss of a child and friend took its toll on their marriage and Sarah left for DC and her job, cutting off all contact with him. In present day, through some questionable spy-skills Sarah discovers that Chuck's program SIMIAN is the sensitive information she must protect and she has until Friday, the last day of the convention, to figure out who the real culprit is. Oh, and Chuck's filed for divorce. _

_So to the five people who may still remember and be willing to read this mammoth fic, I hope the summary jogged your memory a little. It has been awhile and for that I am sorry; you must thank **Altonish** for his herculean efforts in helping me produce this and the next two chapters. He pretty much wrote most of the last part of Thursday, and it's for the better because really, I couldn't do it adequately. So please thank him because he's awesome.  
_

_And thanks **mxpw** for your continued support (or lack there of) for Chuck/Sarah. It's a good thing...most of the time. =) _

_Okay, just remember that it's been awhile and that i just got back on the horse so be nice!  
_

_

* * *

_**Chapter 37:**

Sarah and Sophia walk slowly back to the table and Carl stands to his feet once he sees them approach.

"Let's get you to swim practice, shall we?" The girl rolls her eyes at her father, but she nods. She hesitates just for a moment and then throws her arms around Chuck's neck.

"It's good to see you, Uncle Chuck!" She gives the first true smile Sarah's seen since she bumped into them earlier. The little girl whispers something into Chuck's ear, making the man blush, but he grins at her as she pulls back.

"It's great to see you too, Star Fighter."

Sophia giggles madly at the moniker. Then, as if remembering something, she frowns.

"Dad says I can't play your new game, Uncle Chuck."

Chuck makes brief eye contact with Carl before focusing his gaze back on Sophia. "Don't worry, Star Fighter, you're not missing much."

Sophia sighed dramatically. "You'll come play games with me soon, won't you?"

Chuck hesitates just a beat before he says, "I'll try." It's a signature 'Sarah' response; Chuck's learned well.

"Come on, Soph, you don't want to be late," her father prods.

The little girl launches herself at Chuck again and gives him one more hug. "Bye, Uncle Chuck!"

Sarah feels a momentary pang in the chest as she watches the easy rapport the pair has with one another. In another lifetime, Sophia could so easily have been their own little girl.

"Don't forget Sarah," Chuck prompts.

In a far more subdued and timid manner, Sophia turns and hugs Sarah gently around the waist. "Bye, Mrs. Bartowski."

The surprise of the warm affection is offset by the nature of the formal salutation. Chuck had barely known Carly before she left.

"Bye, Car—Sophia." Sarah runs her hand down the little girl's dark curly locks. "It was nice to see you again." She turns to Carl. "Both of you."

Carl nods. "Don't be strangers," he replies and then puts his arm around Sophia's shoulder, guiding her out of the diner.

As they walk out the door the little girl looks back at her and once again Sarah's struck by the familiarity of her look. She's seen that look a million times in this diner before. Sarah shakes her head. Since she doesn't believe in the supernatural, she must just be going crazy.

Sarah sighs and slumps into the booth across from Chuck. He keeps his gaze focused on something outside the dirty window so she's free to stare at his profile without notice.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asks. "Shouldn't you be at the conference?" Then, remembering the conversation from the morning, she adds: "And didn't you promise not to go anywhere without letting me know?"

She tries not to sound too irritated, but Chuck's usually good on his word and she honestly expected him to know better considering all they've been through this week.

"Carl called me." Chuck finally turns his gaze back to her and she's saddened to see just how troubled he looks. "He said that you needed me."

Sarah feels the heat rise into her cheeks. "I-I-I went to visit Sophie and I bumped into him."

_Why would he think I needed help?_

"I didn't mean for you to get called out of the conference. I didn't even know he called you. If I had I would never have let him."

Chuck shrugs and his troubles seem to fade for a second when he smiles. "It's okay. I'm glad he did."

"What? Why? Don't you have events you need to attend?"

Chuck shrugs again. "It doesn't matter. I started to worry when you missed our last check-in so I wasn't really concentrating anyway."

"Oh!" Sarah immediately digs her phone out of her pocket. "Chuck, I'm so sorry. I turned it off when I was at the cemetery because I didn't want it to ring—"

Chuck holds out his hand. "It's okay," he says. "I'm glad you went to visit Sophie. I was just a little worried, so when Carl called and said you needed me…"

"You shouldn't have," she says. She's not sure why she's not more annoyed with Carl. He was clearly meddling in matters that didn't concern him. "What would happen if it was all a trap? You promised not to leave without calling."

"Sarah." He silences her with just one word. "I'm here now." He arches his brows as a silent challenge. If she couldn't get him to stay in the car before they married, did she really expect him to follow her orders now?

Sarah sighs and sinks back into her seat. "So you are."

She can't help but smile a little. He's always jumped to her rescue. It's sweet, in a terribly senseless and idiotically gallant sort of way.

Neither of them seems to know how to carry the conversation and so they sit in silence exchanging brief smiles. But it's like an ever expanding ocean gaining between them and the longer they spend in silence, the more Sarah begins to doubt the state of the friendship they've been trying to rebuild.

She blurts out the first thing she can think of. "So…what were you and Carl talking about?"

Chuck's embarrassed smile is answer enough, but he tells her anyway. "It seems we're in the midst of a vast conspiracy."

Sarah arches a brow. "How so?"

"Carl's under the impression that I should be making my move to woo you back."

Sarah blanches. "He said that?" she squeaks, but really what she can't believe is that Chuck is confessing all this to her.

"That's why he called me," Chuck says. He smiles with only the slightest flush in his cheeks. Not only has he become uncharacteristically forward, he's also developed quite the poker-face.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth." Chuck looks out the dirty window again and the sadness creeps back on his visage. "That it wasn't up to me. You didn't come back to Los Angeles to be with me. And this…" He waves the air between them and it seems like the action sums up their relationship perfectly. Empty. Like they're trying to hold onto something that's no longer there. "Whatever this may be, however real it might look and feel, ultimately nothing's really changed."

Suddenly he smiles his trademark goofy-grin. "He didn't really buy it though."

"He didn't?" Even Sarah has to admit, one look at that heart-warming smile and even she's not convinced that _this_ wasn't anything.

Chuck shook his head. "Nope. He said if Sophie ever came back; it wouldn't matter what her reason, he wouldn't waste one minute for a chance to be with her again. Even if he couldn't keep her, it wouldn't matter; he'd give anything for that one chance."

Sarah isn't sure how she's supposed to respond to a statement like that so she just nods.

"The guy's impossible to argue with. I told him that we were different, that Sophie didn't choose to leave."

"And what did he say?" Sarah asks, doing a poor job at hiding the tremor in her voice.

Chuck examines his coffee mug with a single-minded focus. "He said I was a coward."

"You aren't a coward, Chuck," Sarah says, putting her hand over his.

"Oh, I'm afraid of plenty."

"Maybe, but you've never let it stop you from doing what needs to be done." She squeezes his hand as an encouragement.

Chuck shrugs and the conversation lulls a bit before he takes a deep breath. "So, what are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing specific. I need to find who's after SIMIAN." When she says it like that, the mission sounds almost doable. Only time is quickly running out and she still doesn't have a lead.

"Can it wait?" he asks.

"Chuck…I've only got one more day, two tops, to fix this. Your life is in danger until I do." She doesn't understand how a man as brilliant as her husband can have so much difficulty getting the point. Doesn't he realize what could happen to him if she doesn't find the culprit?

Chuck waves away her concerns with his hand. "I'm with you. How much danger could I be in?"

"Chuck! Tomorrow I need to have an answer for the Director otherwise we're both in trouble."

He gives her a serious look. "I think we're already in a fair amount of trouble. How much worse can it get?"

Sarah looks pleadingly at him. "_Chuuuuuuuck_…." she intones, dragging out his name.

"Come on, let's go have a little fun." He wags his brows at her and even though she should really know better—

_really, really know better—_

"Doing what?"

Chuck grins mischievously and Sarah feels herself melt under the heat of his gaze. "It's a surprise."

_

They pile into the car with Chuck behind the wheel and head north. The conference center is behind them as is Ellie's and the pier and any other place of significance she can think of. She really has no idea what he has in mind but he looks so utterly relaxed and (dare she believe it) happy behind the wheel that she trusts him implicitly. Considering the strain he was under, she knows this has to be good.

Sarah recognizes where they are headed as soon as they take the freeway exit. The happiest times in Sarah's life have been spent in Burbank and in the twenty square blocks that now make up their old neighbourhood.

Frankly she's not sure she can stand to be here. It represents a perfect spot in her mind that's been unchanged since the day she left. She's not sure she wants a reality check; whatever was here, it would never compare to her memories.

Chuck looks so happy though and she doesn't have the heart to disappoint him. But when she realizes where Chuck's taking them, she relaxes and her gut stops churning on the drop of a dime. She laughs as they pull into the parking lot.

"Piggy's Pizza?" she utters, staring up at the giant neon sign. "We came here for pizza?"

"It's just a stop." Chuck smiles at her and she melts just a bit. He really was just too much.

The pizzeria hasn't changed a bit from the worn linoleum flooring, the checked tiles on the wall, or the portly mascot. In fact Sarah's convinced the greasy, zit-faced teenager behind the counter is the same greasy, zit-faced teenager that had been behind the counter the last time they'd come to Piggy's.

"That's impossible," Chuck whispers, once the cashier takes their order.

"I'm telling you, it's the same guy."

"Sarah, he can't be more than nineteen. That would make him fourteen the last time we were here."

Logic be damned. "I never forget a face," she argues.

"So you're suggesting that this particular pizza parlor exists outside the bounds of normal space and time?"

"I don't really see any other explanation," she whispers urgently.

"So naturally this pizza parlor is the gateway to the Twilight Zone."

"Naturally," Sarah quips.

"Um…" The cashier gives them a strange look. "Actually that was my older brother, Mike."

Sarah bursts out laughing and tries to cover her face with her hand. "I'm so sorry," she utters between gasps for air. "I was just…well…it's been awhile. We used to come here all the time."

The pimply teenager shrugs indifferently. "Pizza's ready."

Chuck quietly accepts the pizza and leaves a tip that should more than absolve them of their embarrassment.

Sarah follows Chuck out into the parking lot and they get into the car. He obviously has a plan in mind because they're speeding out of the lot before she's even had time to put her safety belt on.

"Where are we going?" Sarah asks as Chuck rounds a corner. She already knows where they are heading, but it didn't make a lot of sense.

"I thought we'd go check out our old digs," Chuck explains.

They'd only lived a few blocks from Piggy's so there wasn't a lot of time for her to talk some sense into him. "Don't you think the present owners will mind?" Sarah asks urgently as they pull onto their old street.

"Oh, I think they'll be okay with it," Chuck reassures her. They pull into the vacant driveway and he scoots out with pizza box in hand before she has time to hold him back.

"Chuck!" she exclaims, climbing out after him. "What are you doing?"

He already has his back to her, walking up the steps to their old house. Sarah stops short.

Same color, same planters, same numbers. Sarah's heard of memory lane, but she never thought she'd actually get to walk down it.

"Chuck!" she hisses but he's already walked all the way up to the front door.

"You coming?" he calls, waiting at the door-step.

Sarah looks cautiously around the neighborhood. She can see old Mrs. Crabb looking disapprovingly at her from across the cul-de-sac. Sarah tries to smile at the old crone but she'd never gotten along with the irritable woman when she lived here, why would things change now?

"Sarah?" Chuck stands where he is, still waiting for her to catch up.

Sarah quickly turns her back on their crotchety old neighbor and makes her way to the front door. How many years has she been avoiding facing this very door?

Out here it was safe. Yes, so the world sucked and it was dull, but it made sense. But in there…the parts of her that were still alive had lived behind that door…and in there was a world that had never made sense to her.

Sarah quickly snaps out of her thoughts when she realizes that the front door is already ajar.

"Chuck!" she hisses. "You're going to get us arrested!"

Truthfully she's less afraid of the police than seeing the inside. In there anything is possible and Sarah feels the terror that's kept her away for so long washing back over her. The guilt and fear and pain inside that house could destroy them both. Why would Chuck bring her here?

Doesn't he realize how dangerous all this is?

He disappears inside and Sarah feels her heart lurch. "Chuck!"


	38. Thursday X

_A/N: Thank you for all the great feedback! A couple of you promised to review if i came back and you've kept your promise so i guess i'll have to keep mine, right?_

_This chapter is something i've waited a long time to get out, the format's a bit different but stick with me. the rest of thursday will follow after._

_As always, __**Altonish**__, the literary genius that he is, helped me a great deal with this story. Especially for a certain part. You'll know it when you get there. =) _

_

* * *

_**Chapter 38: **

_The trouble with trying to be normal is that from the moment it becomes a conscious effort, it's reduced to an act; a cover for all the ugly patches and all the hurt, and the trouble with that is strictly that—a cover. _

_Sarah tries anyway. She's just gotten off the phone when Chuck walks into the kitchen. _

"_Who was that?" he asks, as she puts the phone away. _

"_No one," she replies with a carefully calculated, casual shrug. _

_He accepts it and he's so used to all this anonymity that he could care less if it was Engels, the Director, her new partner, or the president himself. _

_A relief, that. She didn't think she could lie to him anymore. _

_It's only been a month since everything went to hell, but it feels like years since she's been herself. _

_"Sit," she orders. "I'm going to make you breakfast." _

_For the first time in a long time, Chuck's face bursts into a grin."You sure you still remember how to turn on the stove?" _

_She sticks her tongue out at him and laughs despite the pain building up inside her chest. Impulsively she reaches over and grabs him by his shirt, kissing him to stem the pain and doing everything she can to funnel the extra emotion into a passionate kiss. _

_Chuck's eyes are wide when she pulls back. He's clearly taken by surprise. "Wow..." he whispers in a daze. "What's the occasion?" _

_She strokes his hair, taking in the scent of him. "You're my husband," she states, rather matter-of-factly."I don't need a reason, do I?" _

Do I?

_Suddenly her chest feels tight and she can hardly breathe. Everything feels just like old times only the touch no longer feels right. Her hand freezes whilst still entangled in his hair and she stares at it as if it were someone else's limb, certainly not hers. _

_It's like they're going through the motions of a happily married couple trying to find that old feeling but she's too numb to feel the warmth. _

_Chuck rubs her back. "Sarah?" he asks, staring up at her. _

_Sarah stirs from her thoughts and retracts her hand, keeping them behind her back. _

_He looks at her. One second he seems to be able to pinpoint it and the next he's just perplexed. "What is it—are you—do you—" He stalls and clips his own sentences for fear they will inflict more damage than the awkward silence will. _

"_Do you want to talk?" _

"_No," Sarah says. She can barely breathe much less talk through the crippling chest pain. _

_Chuck bites his lip. "It's just, I thought we were doing better."_

_Sarah looks up abruptly and momentarily forgets the mask she's been trying so hard to maintain. "Are we?" she utters. "Or have we just gotten better at pretending?" _

_He stares at her and the hurt is so commonplace it's nearly expected. He doesn't say anything and it's just as well. She's no closer to the answer than he is. _

"_I feel fine, Chuck. Everything's fine," she dismisses, putting on the familiar mask. _

_Chuck looks at her carefully, his warm brown eyes not missing a thing. And suddenly she feels his scrutiny like a noose around her neck. He's going to see through her to all the hurt and then all the guilt will come rushing back. He'll avoid her gaze, avoid her touch...and one day, he'll avoid her altogether. _

_And that's when she realizes, they could never be normal. Not ever again. _

_

* * *

_

_They try to get back to their old routine; they try to do all the things they used to. They go to their favourite coffee house, sit in their usual booth and pretend like it's just any other lazy afternoon. Chuck tries, she can tell, but moving ahead has to be a joint effort and all the best memories, all the people she loved; they're all stuck in the past. She doesn't understand why he'd want to leave everything behind. _

_Chuck does most of the talking which is good because Sarah can't think of one single thing that would be worth saying. _

"_We should get a dog," he suddenly announces. _

_Sarah sits up straight and tries to hide the fact she's been so caught up in her own thoughts she's missed the majority of their conversation. "W-what?" _

"_A dog. Man's best friend." He smiles. "I've always wanted one and I think..." Chuck's smile wanes and he doesn't tell her what he thinks; she already knows. It's good practice...for something that's never going to happen. _

_Sarah holds her breath, waiting for the pain in her chest to subside but the most she can hope for is a constant dull ache. She knows she'll never forget. It hurts too much to. _

"_Sarah?" Chuck prompts. _

"_I don't know," she responds. The perfect answer for everything. "I'm not much of a dog person." _

"_Okay. How about a cat?" _

"_No." _

"_Fish?" _

"_No." Sarah takes a quick drink of her coffee, eagerly swallowing every bitter drop. "I just..." _

I don't want anything.

I don't want anything to change.

I want everything to be the way it used to be.

"_Do whatever you want." She doesn't mean to sound so caustic and uncaring but she can tell Chuck's been rebuked. _

_She doesn't know how else to tell him, but a puppy isn't going to resolve the unmade crib hidden in the closet or make her forget about the sonogram photos she's already reduced to ashes. _

"_Okay," he says quietly and stares down at his coffee. They pass the next few minutes in silence, and Sarah's never been more grateful for the busy cafe with its loud coffee-grinders and cacophonic clean-up of metal on ceramic. _

"_Sarah." His voice gets her attention. "What are you thinking about? There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" _

_But of course there is. There always has been. _

_Sarah doesn't lie. She just keeps quiet and stares at her hands currently clenched around the coffee mug. _

"_Chuck." She uses the same tone he's used on her and it sounds just as tired and worn out as it sounds. "Stop it. It's nothing, I'm fine." _

_His expression weakens just the slightest. "I just—" _

"_I know. Please." She's begging him now. "You have to stop worrying about me. I'm not much of a talker, you know that." She smiles for him, so that he can see he has nothing to worry about, but somehow she feels like she's failed even at that. _

"_You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" He looks hopefully up at her and takes her hand, prying it off the chipped white mug. "Anything." _

_Sarah's resolution wavers but she presses her lips into a stubborn line. _

"_I know. Now can we talk about something else?" _

_He shrugs. "Like what?" _

Exactly.

_She has no idea what to say to him anymore. It's like they've forgotten how to talk to each other and all of it sounds like white noise. _

"_I want to take you to Paris for Christmas." _

_Sarah snaps back only to realize she's been caught up in her own thoughts again. She blinks slowly and tries to hide it from him but Chuck's waiting for her to respond. _

"_Oh." She takes a slow sip of her coffee. "I don't know. It'll be cold that time of year." _

_Chuck frowns. "But you've always wanted to go in the winter. You like it when all the tourists have vacated." _

_Sarah shrugs. "I don't know." _

_She doesn't want to commit to anything. Chuck's planning for things months, years down the road and she can barely think past today. _

_How can he want a future full of awkward moments? How can he want to spend the rest of his life with a woman who no longer knows what it means to feel? _

_What started out as only an ill thought has germinated and taken root. It threatens to devour her from the inside-out but she can't bear to make the confession. _

_How can she put him through a lifetime of this? _

"_What would you like to do then?" _

"_I don't know, Chuck, I haven't really thought that far yet." _

_Sarah's afraid to look into the future. She's afraid to face the fact that perhaps there isn't any more happiness left in store for them. This is it. This is all they have now. _

"_Well, where would you like to go for the holiday?" _

Oh God._ Sarah bites down on her tongue to hold back the tears. He looks at her like a kid on Christmas Eve, still so eager and full of excitement, and she knows she's been nothing but a burden to him. He's trying to move on and she's holding them both back. _

"_I don't know, Chuck, whatever you think is best." _

_Chuck's smile falls and he reaches across to clasp her hand. "Hey..." he says gently. "I know it's been a rough year. Just say the word and I'll make it yours." _

_Sarah can't help herself. She bursts into tears and hides under a curtain of blond hair. _

"_Sarah..." Chuck coaxes. "Honey, please don't cry. The waitresses are going to think I'm mistreating you." _

_Somehow, despite everything, he still manages to get a laugh out of her. _

"_That's better," Chuck teases. "Please don't cry, Sarah, everything's going to be okay, I promise." _

"_I know," she whimpers, taking a slow deep breath. She looked into his sad brown eyes and felt like he could save her from everything except herself. _

_

* * *

_

_They go out for dinner even though the fridge is filled with leftovers. He orders her favourite wine without asking and they share a salad and pasta. _

_"Sarah, are you okay?" _

_Sarah looks up at him and wrinkles her brows. "Of course, why do you ask?" _

_He points at her plate with his fork. "You've barely had anything. I'm eating all the food." Even though it's probably taboo to toss food around at such a fancy restaurant, he slides his plate over and portions a helping of pasta onto her already too-full plate. _

_"I'm just not that hungry," she says with a smile. _

_"You barely ate anything at lunch." _

_"Big breakfast," she explains, taking another drink from her glass. _

_Chuck frowned. "You barely had anything," he accused. Sarah feels obligated to eat something from her plate but even that isn't enough. Chuck clasps her hand and squeezes it. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you feel sick?" _

_"No! I'm fine!" she insists. She spends the next fifteen minutes eating just to placate her husband. She's completely lost her appetite but she does it only so he won't worry the way he does. _

_She reminds herself for the hundredth time that she'd do anything to keep him safe. She's already gotten a glimpse of their future and it's not what she wants. _

_"Sarah?" _

_Sarah sighs and sets her cutlery down against the porcelain plate, the abrupt noise breaking apart the carefully construed ambiance. _

_"I have to go back," she blurts out, looking shame-faced at her husband. _

_Chuck wrinkles his brows. "What? Why, did we leave something on at the house?" _

_"No, Chuck, to work." Sarah pushes the plate away, knowing she won't regain her appetite tonight. "I have to go back to work." _

_The man's confusion shifts to a different emotion altogether. He looks as if she's pierced him through the heart and she stares down at the tablecloth because she can't bear to see his pain. _

_Chuck sets down his cutlery and pushes his plate away. He's silent and pensive and when he finally speaks, his voice is distant and hollow._

"_Why?"_

_Sarah shrugs. "It's time. It's been long enough." _

_"No." She glances up to find him shaking his head. "They can't make you. How much can they take from us? What do they want from you? Haven't they put you through enough?" _

_Chuck's showing more emotion than he has in months, she hasn't seen him this angry since...well...she doesn't really know. _

_"They didn't ask me, Chuck," she replies quietly. She waits for the fact to sink in, knowing his misdirected anger will soon shift and be placed squarely where it belonged. _

_Chuck looks at her in disbelief. "No! Sarah, why? After everything, you're...you're..."He's too angry to find the words and when his sputtering finally comes to a stop, all can say is: "How can you possibly do this?" _

_Sarah reaches out to him but he won't take her hand. "Chuck. This is who I am. Being a spy is what I do." _

_"Why?" he demands. "Why do you have to do this?" _

That's the real question, isn't it?

_Sarah stares at the tablecloth. The answer was simple. She needed to get away. She needed an escape from the oppressive sadness of their home. She needed to forget. _

_"I need something to take my mind off of what's happened," she offers. "I need something to hold on to." _

_Chuck looks at her, his eyes wide with wonder. "What about me?" he asks softly. _

_"Chuck..." _

_Sarah looks to Chuck and his expression seems to say it all. There's nothing left for her to explain. _

_

* * *

_

_Chuck goes to bed without her. He doesn't even bid her goodnight before he's gone and it's like all the warmth in the house has left with him. Their small home has never felt so cold and austere to her before, but she dreads another argument so she waits half an hour in the living room before she has the courage to make her way up to meet him. _

_She catches up to him in the bedroom but he barely registers her presence. They might as well be living in different worlds. She takes her time brushing her teeth, flossing twice to buy herself some time. She sneaks peeks at him from the bathroom door, wondering what the proper words are, but she knew one thing was for sure. For once, she's going to have to be the one to start the conversation._

_Finally she leaves the sanctuary of the bathroom and walks cautiously to the foot of their bed. She takes a deep breath, avoiding his gaze and instead staring down at the monotone sheets to keep her focus._

"_I'm sorry." _

_Silence. _

_Chuck closes the book and looks at her with an unreadable expression. _

"_It's just...I think it would be better if I got back into my old routine. I think it would help and it would keep my mind occupied, so I won't have to think about..." She struggles with the lump growing in her throat. "...all the time..." she continues, glossing over the things she can't put into words. "I just...I need to feel like myself again." _

_She looks up at him and hopes he'll understand. _

_She's broken and all she knows is that before she had become a Bartowski, she had been whole or at least as whole as half a person can ever be. _

"_I...need this," she repeats when he still doesn't say anything. _

_Chuck places the book on the nightstand and sighs softly under his breath. They're not going to fight about this because she can already see the defeat in his eyes. _

"_Okay," he whispers. "If that's what will make you happy. All I've ever wanted was to make you happy." _

_Chuck starts to sink under the covers and Sarah stands in her place, dumbfounded. She'd rather have an argument than his cold acceptance. She'll take anything so long as there was some semblance that he still cared the way he used to, but he's taking her decision without a fight. It's like he's given up on her; on _them_. _

_Cautiously Sarah crawls into the bed beside him. There's only a few inches separating them but there feels like an ocean between them. _

_Chuck moves to turn off the light but she reaches for his arm and stops him. He tenses in surprise, but when she moves over him, he says nothing at all. Tension mounts but there's no accompanying spark; it's just a thick oppressive hood hanging over the two of them. _

_He looks a little fearful at first when she dips her head towards his, and instead of closing his eyes in anticipation, he's watching her lips almost as if he's afraid of them. They come together and it's like kissing a statue; he's there but he's not alive. _

_She keeps kissing him, trying to awaken something in the both of them, and finally his hands come up along her sides and he strokes her gently. Sarah moans automatically; even though it doesn't feel quite right, it's still Chuck. He's still the One. _

_Hastily she tears off her negligee in an effort to encourage him. They haven't made love since she's been in the hospital and she needs this. She needs to feel alive. She needs Chuck to feel alive again. _

_Then it happens. _

_His fingers run over the scar along her abdomen. It's a tiny thing now. It's still red and angry, but it's so small it seems impossible that such a minute wound could have hurt them both so much. _

_Chuck's fingers trace over the outline and she thinks for a moment that it's a lost cause. She takes his hand and guides it away from the scar but she thinks she's lost Chuck already. His mind is lost to her. _

_She kisses him, desperate to distract him and she lets out a small shriek of surprise when Chuck tosses her over. He's on her in a second, his hot breath burning against her neck, and for a second it feels almost familiar. _

_Sarah moans his name and pulls him closer. Finally. This is a dance they know too well. Whatever their problems, they've always been good at this. A hunger burns within her and after being handled with kid gloves for so long she needs him so badly she can't wait anymore. _

_Sarah's lithe legs wrap around Chuck, forcing him closer, but from the moment they join, it's not right. There are no stars behind her eyelids, no cresting wave, no earth-shattering exhilarations that threaten to render her speechless. It's pleasant...but little more. _

_She can tell from Chuck's body that he senses it to. He quickens his pace frantically trying to find the right rhythm something...anything...but the moment leaves and by the time Chuck tires and lays down beside her, all she can feel is the crushing weight of defeat. _

"_I'm sorry," she tells him again for the second time in less than an hour. _

"_Don't be," Chuck wheezes. "I was just tired and it's been a long time. It'll be better next time." _

_It's not true though and Sarah knows it. They're broken. Everything's broken and like the scar that will mark her abdomen forever, they'll never be the same. _

_Chuck turns out the light and they huddle under the comforter. She knows Chuck isn't sleeping. Neither of them do; her pillow is too wet with tears to sleep on and Chuck's breathing never steadies. They drift out onto the inky ocean but there is no shore for them to reach. _

_

* * *

_

_Her partner looks at her and says, "You're being kind of quiet." He says it as if it were an accusation. _

_Speeding down the freeway in the dark of night, it's the first thing either of them has said in the last fifteen minutes._

_She shoots him an irritated look and he averts his gaze, focusing back on the road. Normally Sarah has more patience for this kind of stuff, but honestly, they've worked together what—three—times at most? Who was to say she wasn't naturally introverted? Who was to say she didn't hate small-talk? This is why she'd requested to work without a partner. _

_All this silence doesn't bode well and Sarah knows her body language is sending the message loud and clear. _

"_Well don't take it out on me," he mutters under his breath. _

"_Right, because I'm the screw-up. Yeah, I know," Sarah retorts, generous with the disdain when it came to herself. "It's my fault we messed up, it's my fault we blew our covers, and it's my fault we didn't get the intel we wanted." _

_The driver sighs. Neither of them have the emotional quotient for this sort of thing. _

"_No one's blaming you...that much. I mean parts of it were your fault..." _

_Sarah takes the words stoically, all the while wishing the man beside her had the sense to at least cushion the blow before punching her in the gut. _

"_But you've been through a lot, this is your first mission since—" _

"_Save it," Sarah snaps and stares out the side window. "I'm fine. I made a mistake and I promise you it won't happen again." And just to make sure one thing was for sure, she repeats herself. _

"_I'm fine." _

_Her partner clamps down on his tongue and just keeps driving. Sarah gazes out into the nothingness, trying to find comfort in the familiar road signs and muted orange lighting, but all she can think about is what a failure she's become. _

_She can't even stomach walking through the door tonight to face Chuck. She's no good as a wife and now she's a failure at everything else too. _

_An hour passes and they are well into the city now. The oppressive dread closes in on her with every mile that's covered between here and the little blue house on the quiet cul-de-sac. _

"_You know what—" she exclaims just as she sees he's about to take the exit into the suburbs. It's the first time she's spoken up and compounded with the urgency of her tone, it's nearly enough to make her partner slam on the breaks and nearly derail them off the bridge. _

"_What the hell!" he exclaims, honking the horn even though the person he's most irate with is stuck inside the car with him. _

"_Sorry, I just realized I don't need that ride home," Sarah excuses, clutching her chest. "Do me a favour and drop me off at that hotel over there." _

_With some quick manoeuvring they manage to avoid an accident and still find themselves in the correct lane but only just. The man sighs in relief and only when safe to do so, looks over at his partner with an expression like she's lost her mind._

_Sarah doesn't explain herself. She doesn't think she can. She's not entirely sure what she's doing. And even when her partner drops her off at the front doors of the hotel and asks her again if she needs a ride home, she denies it again. _

"_I'm fine," she repeats once aloud and then silently over and over again in her head. She keeps telling herself that until she starts to believe it. _

_Sarah sits alone in the dark hotel room. Her bags sit unopened by the door and she hasn't changed out of her clothes. She hasn't done anything except sit in the dark, trying to catch her breath. _

_What the hell has she done?_

_What the hell was she thinking? _

_But of course she wasn't thinking. All she knows is that she can't face the guilt and pain—not tonight, maybe never again. Her emotions were going to get her killed. They could destroy Chuck. _

_It wasn't too late. She could call a cab and pretend none of this happened. She could return to that double-life and put on the mask again to hide all her hurt. _

_That's not the problem though. _

_The problem was that she didn't feel sad at the prospect of not returning home. She always felt sad. _Always.

_But all she could feel now was relief that she didn't have to face the oppressive guilt that waited for her on the other side of their front door. _

"_It's just for a night," she reasons. She'll stay here tonight and go back tomorrow. She'll tell Chuck they'd had a late mission and she didn't want to disturb him. Tomorrow...she'll go home tomorrow, she was sure of it. _


	39. Thursday B VI

_A/N: Wow, you guys are amazing! I think I've received more responses since my return than before i went on hiatus. _

_Congrats to **mxpw, **my most steadfast anti-sarah fan,who claimed both my 1000th review AND my 100th story alert. His favorite line all story is in this chapter, can you guess it? _

_As always I must thank **Altonish** who helped me a great deal with this chapter. If not for his vision, things would have gone a lot differently in this chapter. _

_This is the last little bit I have worked out so please enjoy! I don't know when I'll have time to write more but hopefully sooner than later.  
_

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**Chapter 39:**

She runs after him with every intention of dragging him back out before they're both arrested for break-n-enter but one step inside and she's frozen.

It's not just their old house. It _is_ their old house.

It's not exactly right; the futon that was once in Chuck's office is now in the living room and the chairs she'd purchased on their honeymoon are in the wrong spot but it was…

"Home," Sarah whispers.

"I couldn't sell it," Chuck explains. "I couldn't really come back here anymore either, so when I got the condo I had them move some of my stuff, but just enough to furnish it." Chuck put his hands on his hips and turns around in a circle. "I really have to hand it to Delores, the place looks great."

"What?" Sarah whispers, still in a daze. She's not taking well to the nostalgia; there are so many memories here—good and bad, and she feels like everything's coming back all at once. It's too much. She's put all these things into a very tightly-sealed box and now everything was spilling out of the corners.

"Chuck…" she says, steadying herself against the wall. "I don't think we should be here."

Chuck studies her for a moment. "Why not? It's our house."

He makes a good point but it doesn't change the fact that she feels like a stranger. She slumps into one of the chairs; it's hard to believe that once long ago this had been such a happy place, now it's only a vicious reminder of everything they've lost.

"Hey…come on." Chuck sets the pizza box down and bends to meet her at eye level. "I didn't mean to bring you down, I just…" he pauses and opens his mouth for a moment then thinks better of it and closes it. He tries again but to no avail. He doesn't speak but Sarah can see that he's thinking hard about something.

Finally he gives up and paces for a bit, the words come slowly. "I guess I just needed to see it one more time and I thought you might like to as well." Chuck reaches up and brushes one of the ceiling beams almost reverently. "I don't know. I guess I love this place too much to have my last memory of being here involve sitting here alone begging a God I don't even believe in to bring you home. Our house deserves better than for our last memory of it to be that."

Sarah resists the urge to blink but she has to, inevitably, and when she does, she can picture Chuck in the back of her mind, sitting here, waiting for her to come home; hoping against hope that she was okay, that she was just late and not dead somewhere shot to death by some terrorist. She'd been such a selfish bitch.

She's tried so hard not to think of him. She's been such a coward, too afraid to come home; too afraid to face the fact she was no longer loved.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm so sorry for what I put you through. You should hate me for what I did to you."

Chuck gives her an easy smile and it's a good thing she's sitting down because it's the kind that's always made her weak in the knees. "I don't."

"You should."

"Not even a little bit." Chuck holds up the miniscule distance between his thumb and forefinger. "I was angry, sure, but I don't think it's in my genetic make-up to hate you."

Sarah chokes back barely suppressed tears. She doesn't deserve him. She never has.

He's made every impossibility possible, he's broken down all her walls, touched her in ways she had never imagined and the way he's smiling at her now makes her want to laugh even though she knows she should be crying repentant tears.

"What am I going to do with you?" she asks in a melancholy tone. She stands from her chair and walks over to him. Standing there, in front of him, she runs her hand over his cheek and through his hair. He was so perfect; if she could just remember his curly hair—

"I don't know, but I hope it's dirty," he jokes.

And then it happened. Sarah Bartowski laughed.

Chuck's grin grew even wider. "Hey, that's good to see."

"I've missed you," Sarah whispers.

Chuck flushes just the slightest bit. "Pizza?" he asks, retrieving the pizza box from behind him. "No olives, I promise."

Sarah rolls her eyes a little. "I know. I was there."

_

Truthfully, pizza is not really Sarah's thing and Piggy's isn't exactly gourmet, but she's pretty sure it's the best meal she's eaten in years. Talking, really talking, to Chuck again was like something out of an old movie, something only fit for celluloid. People like her just didn't end up meeting people like him. And people like her certainly didn't get second chances after doing what she'd done to him.

She enjoyed hearing about his life since she left. She was glad to hear that he'd gone to all sorts of interesting places and done so many neat things, though she couldn't help but notice that none of his stories included any friends. His existence sounded a little too lonely for Chuck; there was no mention of Ellie or Morgan and he hadn't mentioned the name of a single girl in any of his stories. Chuck has always been a social butterfly; it wasn't like him to spend so much time on his own.

"So enough about me. What about you?"

"What about me?" Sarah asks, clearly stalling.

"What exciting places have you been to? What have you been doing?"

"Chuck, you know I can't talk about it."

"Not even if we keep it really vague?"

"There's really not that much to tell." Sarah shrugs. "I did a lot of work in Eastern Europe, but since the cold war ended and Yugoslavia broke up; the old Soviet nations have all become very friendly."

"Yeah, peace sucks."

Sarah giggles. "No, peace is good. I just haven't been all that great at my job since I went back."

"Oh, come on, you're the best," Chuck cajoles.

"No, I _was_ the best. Now?" Sarah runs her fingers through her hair. "I…" She hesitates because there's a lot Chuck doesn't know and she doesn't want to tell. It's all fine and well for her to gloss over her work history but all the times in between; how she fell to rock-bottom, her admissions, her mistakes…she can't.

Chuck pulls her across the short distance of the futon and wraps an arm around her. "I don't care what anyone else says. You're still the best."

"Oh come on, Chuck, someone's out to get you and I'm here reliving the glory years in our old house instead of tracking them down. I'm going to get fired tomorrow."

"You are?" Maybe she's tired, but Chuck sounds almost a little excited about the prospect.

"Probably, the director gave me until end of the day tomorrow to solve this case, make sure SIMIAN is secured and resolve my relationship with you and I don't seem to be making progress on any of those."

"Oh, I don't know, I think you've got the situation well in hand."

"Chuck, I'm failing miserably!"

"No, not really. See, there's no way I'm handing over SIMIAN, so it's secure. I'm scheduled to leave town Saturday, so I'm sure whoever's after it will make their move by tomorrow and you'll catch them. As for you and I, we're good."

Sarah turns so she can get a good look at Chuck. He's serious. "We are?"

Chuck smiles shyly. "Well, I hope so. We've buried the hatchet. Life still goes on even if it sucks." He takes a deep breath and reaches for her hand; it's only then that she realizes he's nervous. "We know that I still care about you. And I think we've learned that you still care a little about me. I'm not sure what else we can ask for, so yeah, we're good."

"It's more than a little."

"What is?"

"How much I care about you."

"Oh." Chuck's smile gets a little wider. "Yeah?"

Sarah feels compelled to slap him across the head. How could he doubt her? Can't he see how compromised she is?

"Of course," she says, feeling indignant. She turns so that she can hug him but even after she's achieved her aim of a quick reassuring embrace, she stays curled there in his arms. Even if everything; being in the house, sitting on the futon, lying in his arms, was wrong; it still feels right.

"We should—" She begins to pull back but before she can finish her sentence, Chuck captures her mouth. Her mind freezes up at the sudden breach of personal space but her body remembers Chuck and responds accordingly. She'd curse her treacherous hormones if she could stop thinking about the feel of his lips.

_God she's missed him._

He deepens the kiss and when his hand traces against the corner of her jaw she feels something she hasn't in a long, long time awaken inside of her.

_Chuck._ She can't bring herself to say the words and ruin this moment, so she begs silently for him to do it instead.

_He should know better. _

_. .So do you._

_He's the one kissing me. _

_. .And you're kissing back. _

They break apart, both out of breath, but there's the promise of something more. She looks into his eyes and there's no hint of guilt or remorse to show for what he's done. This was no mistake. He's taken Carl's advice and made his move. Internally she wants to cheer, but she knows better; they're only setting themselves up for more pain. She should tell him. Explain it to him.

He lowers his head to hers and pulls her into a slow and sultry kiss; she doesn't even try to resist. Her body is ready even if her mind is lagging behind.

"Chuck," she whispers. She breaks from the kiss. "We shouldn't do this."

"Why not?" he asks and looks expectantly at her for a good answer. Clearly he can't.

_Why not?_ There's a million reasons why not. Five years of pain, terrorists in waiting, divorce papers written-up, a complete lack of condoms in her purse…

"Tomorrow—"

He places a finger over her lips and pleads at her to stop. "We can talk about tomorrow, tomorrow."

"No. Chuck—" This is a mistake, a mistake they've taken such care all week to avoid. He's gotten close enough but if he gets any closer, there really is no going back.

"Sarah. Tomorrow is going to come regardless of what we do." He takes her hand and uses the other to caress her cheek. "I can't say what's going to happen tomorrow or the day after. And I don't really care."

_All we have is now. _

Sarah looks at him warily, both them fully cognizant that sand was rapidly draining from the hourglass. Tomorrow may be the end, and the day after it will be like this week never happened.

"You should care," Sarah reminds him but Chuck only shrugs. "And I have a job to do."

Chuck tightens his grip on her before she can think of backing away. "Sarah, please? I might only have one night left on this Earth and I'd prefer to spend it…with you."

"Chuck, don't say things like that."

Chuck sighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, not that part." She waves away the apology. "The other part. You're going to be safe. I _promise_ you, you'll be safe."

Chuck's expression brightens. "Oh…and the other part?"

Sarah sighs. "We shouldn't. It won't change anything really. Tomorrow you'll still be you and I'll still be me and after we make sure you're safe…"

Chuck kisses her again. "Sarah," he whispers. "Please."

He looks at her and she can't find it in her to resist him any longer. She nods her head ever so slightly and offers him one last chance to back down. To admit this was all a mistake; that he got carried away and they can just forget it ever happened.

He doesn't take it. He leans down and kisses her again and it's as if they've given in to wild abandon. She wants to giggle, but instead she kisses him back, their kisses escalating with desperation and hunger.

_What mission? _

_What consequences? _

If he isn't worried then why should she be? She doesn't want to hurt him, but what's worse—rejection or remorse?

Sarah doesn't know but she's already made up her mind to go as far as he's willing; screw tomorrow, screw the future. Is one perfect night too much to ask before it all goes to hell tomorrow?

She reaches for his hair only to find his curls still missing. It's disappointing but only a little, and she runs her fingers through the short hair with as much enthusiasm as if they hadn't been shorn. Sarah slides up Chuck's body until she can swing a leg over his hips and straddle his lap. And suddenly she's the one pursuing ever more demanding kisses.

Chuck's hands settle on her thighs and glide over her backside and both of them moan at the contact. She lifts her arms and Chuck removes her cardigan in a single, synchronized motion, like they've been doing this for years.

They break apart long enough for her to lose her shirt and then Sarah redoubles the urgency of her kisses; grinding into him as the heat of her passion burned hotly inside her.

Chuck unsnaps her bra and after a moment she pulls back to shrug it off. She closes her eyes as his fingers brush along her breasts for the first time in five years. It's not foreign or awkward and she doesn't feel compelled to break his fingers when he rubs a thumb across her nipple.

Chuck leaves her lips, his mouth producing searing hot kisses across her jaw and down her neck. Chuck's heated breaths are like flumes of fire burning across her skin and like a moth to the flame, she hungers for more, even if it'll mean her destruction.

_Who cares? What a way to go._

His hands dip lower and brush across the old white scar on her abdomen. The small mark has long since healed and is now little more than a speck; Chuck's fingers brush right past it. It would seem that time can heal some wounds.

Chuck's hands continue to explore and Sarah loses her patience. She tugs at his shirt until he gives it up. Her cursory examination reveals a few gray hairs on his chest and this surprises her for some reason but she dismisses the thought as she fumbles with his belt. They both struggle to be the first to remove the other's clothes. Sarah wants to giggle at how absurd it is to try and remove someone's pants when they are trying equally hard to remove yours.

Chuck wins the race, but she sheds him of the rest of his clothes moments later and they slam back together making skin to skin contact from nose to toe. Chuck's hands roam over her and she moans as she presses herself against him. Five years is a long time and she's waited long enough. Sarah rolls over and tugs Chuck along with so that she can feel his weight upon her once again.

This is as close to Heaven as she's ever going to get. Sarah can't honestly believe she gave this up. She's shaking slightly at the anticipation of the moment and when Chuck finally slides into her, her world explodes and for the first time in five years, Sarah's home.

Their first time doesn't last long, two people denying themselves for so long have little staying power, but thirty minutes later when Chuck moves against her it's slow and sensuous. Time feels irrelevant and they savor every moment as if tomorrow is simply another day and not the end of a surreal dream.

_

They lie together later, their arms and legs intertwined on the futon. They are both too tired to try again and the night has slipped away into the early throes of morning. Chuck's sleepy and his caresses are getting slower and slower but Sarah has no desire to sleep. Today will come and with it all their problems will return, but here in the darkness covered by an old afghan with Chuck's body to keep her warm, Sarah feels safe and whole again for the first time since she awoke in the hospital five years ago.

If tonight is all she's destined to have, then she wants to make the most of it. She snuggles in closer to Chuck and pulls his arm across her chest so that they are spooned tightly together.

Chuck mutters something in her ear but she can't quite make out the exact words.

"What?" she whispers.

"Love you," he mumbles sleepily and tightens his grip around her.

Sarah's heart jumps. Maybe it's just a reflex…maybe he's still dreaming of a life five years ago. Sarah doesn't really care though; she'd longed to hear those words again.

_I love you too,_ she mouths into the darkness. Then she rests against him, listening to his even breaths, until sleep takes her.


	40. Friday B I

_A/N: So we are finally at the end of the week! Please thank __**Altonish**__ for making this less "gimicky". He's been really awesome and patient with me throughout the entire process and he definitely knows more about star wars and computers than I do. You'll see what I mean. _

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**Chapter 40: **

Sarah wakes and everything in her field of vision is encased in an ethereal glow.

_Shame,_ she thinks to herself. She remembers the events of the night before and it's simply too good to be true. Chuck isn't insane enough to entrust his barely mended heart to the care of someone as incompetent as herself. And despite her shoddy track record of late, she knows in her heart of hearts that she's simply too disciplined of an agent to surrender herself so easily to rampaging hormones.

Then a dull pain in her arm shakes her from her dream-like state and she realizes the offended limb is pinned under the weight of another. Sarah opens her eyes again, this time in a better frame of mind, only to realize the ethereal glow is nothing more than the first inklings of sunrise pitching in through the living room window.

Chuck shifts beside her, his prickly chin brushing against her forehead. Only when she tries to rescue her arm, asleep and unresponsive after spending the night under all that weight, does she realize just how entangled the two of them really are.

It couldn't have been comfortable, but they've spent the entire night wrapped in each other's arms.

_Oh my God. _Seeing as how she has no way of untangling herself without waking him, she buries herself deeper into Chuck's shirt in an effort to hide the telltale flush on her face.

Instantly her mind goes to her boss and the disapproving opinions of everything at the office. If she isn't already the cockroach underneath the heel of the Director's shoe she is now.

_Screw it._ Sarah sighs and closes her eyes. For now she's happy and content and she knows she doesn't have much longer to enjoy it.

The grip around her waist tightens and she feels Chuck's breath warm her ear. "Morning," he greets and nuzzles her cheek. He doesn't seem all too concerned with spending the night with his soon-to-be-ex either.

"Morning," she utters.

He smiles at her, still sleepy-eyed with his hair adorably mussed against the pillow. Without any hesitation at all, he leans down and kisses her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if they were back to their life five years ago and the crater of their failed relationship didn't lie between them.

Sarah's in too much shock to return the gesture and she must be doing a bad job of hiding it because Chuck laughs quietly in amusement. "Could you squirm a little more?" he teases.

As red with embarrassment as she is, Sarah still refuses to be the one to back down. She leans forward and pecks him gently on the lips. Like dipping a toe to test the waters, it's over before it even begins.

Chuck arches a brow, gazing sleepily at her. "That's all?" he challenges.

Sarah smiles and obliges him, dunking both feet into the water. The innocent gesture quickly escalates and she's pressed against his body until she feels like she's fallen over the deep end and in risk of drowning.

Under better circumstances she may have allowed herself to enjoy the moment, but she's indulged herself far too much.

_Enough. _

Sarah reluctantly pulls away though she can't bear to fully part from him. He reaches out and she takes his hand gratefully, wary to maintain a certain distance from him lest she be tempted again.

"When are you going back to DC?"

Sarah blinks in surprise. She sincerely thought they were going to delude themselves for a little while longer.

She clears her throat. "Uh…I don't know exactly but soon."

Chuck nods and if he's disappointed, he hides it well. Sarah holds him tighter, as if having him closer will stave off the impending cold of being alone.

"Well," he whispers. "If I'm still alive and you're still around, maybe we could have lunch on Saturday."

Sarah looks at him in alarm and she's suddenly filled with a strong desire to punch him square in the face. "Charles Irving Bartowski," she intones sternly. "I made a promise to you that I would keep you alive. Don't you trust me?"

He shrugs and it bothers her that for a topic so morbid his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Of course I trust you. It was just a hypothetical proposition."

Sarah pouts. "Well I don't like it."

Chuck arches a brow. "Would lunch with me be so terrible?"

"Chuck!" she growls. Seeing her frustration, Chuck's smile disappears and he looks older than his age and older than she remembers.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, serious now, and kisses her gently on the brow.

They gaze at one another in silence and it's clear what they're both thinking.

This is the beginning of the end.

Chuck reaches over and strokes her cheek gently with his thumb, already anticipating the tears that have yet to fall. It's clear, even though no words pass between them, that last night wasn't a mistake.

It wasn't a rash decision, a-spur-of-the-moment-heat-of-the-passion sort of thing.

He knew what he was doing and he knew it wasn't going to change anything.

He doesn't even bring up the subject; they've been over it so many times before.

"We should go," she whispers, clasping his hand close to her chest. "You have a presentation to make today."

He resists. "Just a few more minutes," he begs, closing the scant distance between them. Sarah can't bring herself to deny him anything, not when she wants the very thing herself

"Just a few more minutes," he repeats, brushing his fingers through her hair. She gazes up at him and there's an intensity to the way he looks at her, as if he were trying to memorize every detail about her in what little time they had left.

For a second she considers staying. They can try again to make things work. She'll work less, try harder, and listen to her therapist this time. She'll quit her job, really, and be honest with Chuck, herself, everyone; she'll do anything. But ultimately, everything is going to play out exactly the way it did the first time because nothing's changed. Chuck is still the same man she married and she'll still find a way to fuck things up just like she always does.

The futility of their predicament makes it difficult for Sarah to match Chuck's gaze. It's too hard.

Unable to meet his eyes, she settles for memorizing everything else about him. His long fingers tracing against her jawline as he settles a stray strand of hair for her, the steady beat of his heart that's always been a contradiction to her own hummingbird-like pulse, his warm soft breaths like fanning rays of sunshine across her skin.

"Let's just stay here today," Chuck suggests.

Sarah looks at him sadly. He's much too noble to disregard all the people who are counting on him. The definition for personal gain doesn't exist in his dictionary.

"Tomorrow is today, Chuck," she utters.

He looks at her and sighs, knowing all too well that this happy delusion can't go on for much longer. He hugs her close and judging by how tightly he grips her, it may as well be for the very last time.

"_Sarah,_" he intones. He closes his mouth but she already knows what he's thinking.

_Ask me again. _She stares at him, begging him to say the words.

_Ask me again, Chuck._ _Ask me to stay._

They stare at one another in silence and then he lets go and breaks the connection.

Chuck lies on his back, giving her all the space she needs now that she no longer needs it. "Yeah, I should get ready," he agrees, and then rolls off the futon, returning back to reality.

"Big day today," he mumbles off-handedly. He no longer seems to care what happens to StarHawk or Tropic of Cancer; not that Sarah can really blame him. Today is her last chance to find the people who wish him harm. The last day before the Director pulls her back and sentences her to oblivion.

She still has a lot to prove. And she knows can't fail him again.

* * *

Sarah leans with her elbow against the passenger side window, staring out as suburbia and picket-fence dreams quickly fade into a distant memory. She habitually turns her wedding band around and around her finger. Friday isn't even over yet and all she can think about is how if she does her job as she's supposed to she'll be back in her tiny one bedroom apartment in less than twenty-four hours. Big incentive.

If she doesn't do her job things will be even worse. The only reason she even bothers marching forward is to make sure that Chuck will be safe.

_He _will_ be safe, _she emphasizes.

"What are you thinking about?" Chuck asks and takes her hand, keeping her from her nervous tic. Her wedding rings threaten to scorch her skin and she almost wonders why Chuck hasn't yelped in pain.

_Our marriage._

_What you said to Ellie. _

She looks at him and nearly asks him if he meant the words. Or had that been a matter of conscience, to continue to spare Ellie the terrible truth?

Sarah squeezes Chuck's hand. Since she's promised not to lie to him and she can't very well tell the truth, her options are limited.

"Do you remember that place we used to go for brunch?" she asks, changing the subject. "It had a silly name like…Java the House?"

"Java the Hut," Chuck supplies. "How could I forget the bad Star Wars pun combined with watered down orange juice and burnt coffee?"

Sarah laughs softly. "I thought it was cute. They had those animal shaped waffles."

He wrinkles his brows. "They were droids not animals."

"Whatever. You know the place I mean. They had those pancakes…" Sarah snaps her fingers; the name is at the tip of her tongue but she can't—

"Chocolate-chip banana pancakes?"

Sarah nods her head enthusiastically. "Yeah that's it."

Chuck clicks his tongue. " Okay...why do you ask?"

"No reason," she says and wonders if she must now find another distraction to avoid revealing why she chose to talk about breakfast to begin with.

"Do you want to go there?" he asks.

She gives him a funny look. "We can't. I don't think we have enough time. Besides, you never really liked that place that much—"

Chuck squeezes her hand and without warning, pulls a sharp U-turn on the busy street.

"Chuck!" she screams, feeling her heart-rate skyrocket. "Are you out of your mind?"

The man laughs and she can't understand where he's suddenly adopted this devil-may-care attitude.

"You can't go to your presentation looking like you've just slept in your car all night!" she says, urging him to reconsider. "We don't have enough time."

"You're right, Sarah," he says and takes her hand again. "We don't have enough time." His tone grows soft and melancholy, and despite knowing better, Sarah leans back in her seat and clamps down on her tongue.

* * *

They order waffles shaped like R2D2 and chocolate-chip banana pancakes to share. The orange juice tastes more like water than juice and the coffee tastes like boiled coal tar but when Chuck reaches to hold Sarah's hand across the table, nothing feels more perfect and normal.

"See?" he asks, drowning his pancakes in maple syrup. "This was a good idea."

Sarah's eyes flit down to check her watch. Thirty minutes before the presentation.

"You're going to regret it," she warns though it's not clear if she means Chuck's sugar-overloaded breakfast or the presentation.

He shakes his head and pushes his food around. "Nope. Not a chance." He grins at her and she's not entirely sure what he's referring to either.

"Are you going to eat that or are trying to freeze them in carbonite?" she asks.

Chuck stops what he's doing. "Did you just make a Star Wars joke?" He's diced and sliced the contents of his plate but little of it has made its way where it's intended.

"Yes," Sarah says, a small smile on her face. "Why aren't you eating? We came here despite the fact that we have no time to get breakfast, right?"

Chuck shrugs and pokes around the pieces a little more. "I'm not that hungry," he says.

"That seems unlikely," she says, cleaning up her plate. She was starving. Sex always made her hungry in the morning; good sex doubly so. "Are you nervous about the presentation?"

Chuck doesn't say anything, just continues to poke his food around.

"It's probably best you don't eat that anyway," she chides. "I'm not sure swallowing lead before your presentation will help your nerves. Why don't we just head out." She grabs her bag, tosses a few spare bills onto the table and grabs a cup of the super potent coffee to go, leaving everything else behind.

"Wait—" He grabs her hand and pulls her back. "Let's just sit here for awhile."

Sarah sinks slowly back into the chair. "But—"

"It's okay. I never eat before a presentation," he says, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Besides, it's been a really long time since we've been here. You should eat your waffles while they're still here. It's not everyday you get to eat waffles shaped like R2D2."

He smiles wistfully at her and she knows he doesn't give a damn about the waffles.

Sarah smiles sadly. She urges Chuck to finish at least one of the waffles while she sips on tasteless orange juice.

Out of habit she watches the patrons at the other tables. The restaurant is mostly full of nostalgic nerds. It's the only way they stay in business, but there's a mother and her daughter sitting in a booth towards the corner.

The little girl struggles with the large cutlery and the mother pulls the plate over, splitting the contents up for her. The little girl smiles, making her dimples deepen and Sarah's so caught up in the moment she doesn't realize Chuck's tugging on her sleeve.

"What is it?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

Sarah looks away and nods. "Yeah, of course."

Chuck cocks his head to one side. "What were you thinking about?"

She could just as easily have lied, but for some reason she doesn't. She doesn't even try to change the subject.

"Our daughter would have been five years old this November," she says, not without a dull ache entering her chest.

Five years …ten…twenty… she can spend a whole lifetime trying to put the past behind her but she'll never be able to forget.

Chuck drops his cutlery, what little appetite he had now completely gone.

"I'm sorry," Sarah says. "I didn't mean to bring it up. It just came to me…I'm sorry—"

"No. It's okay." He holds her hand and squeezes it. "Most of the time I know the exact number of days old she should be. I haven't been thinking about it the last week or so though."

Sarah can barely meet his eyes without the threat of tears. "I want you to know…" Her heart starts to race and even though he's her husband for heaven's sake, she still falters. "No matter what happens between us, you should know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me."

He smiles softly back at her, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Same," he echoes, though she can't imagine why he would think so. "I'd marry you a thousand times over," he utters. He looks down at his plate and she can tell he's starting to tear up too.

_Oh Chuck. _

"I've missed this," she confesses.

"I've missed you." He stares at her, unashamed of the truth, and Sarah can't bear to look away. Not when she feels the very same way.

"Me too," she finally says, squeezing his hand back.

He's not asking her to stay and she's not telling him she has to leave. There's nothing about choice or obligation or duty.

For now, for a few minutes more, they are just Chuck and Sarah.


	41. Friday B II

_A/N: A few of you have been asking me how many chapters are left. I don't know as I'm not finished writing but I can say there's a 90% chance it will be less than 50. _

_**Altonish, **__co-driver, did such a great job here with the last scene so please thank him for all his effort. He wrote one of my fav quotes of the story in this chapter. Can you guess it?_

_**mxpw**__ got an advance ride-through and approves of what he saw here and in the following chapter. if you disagree, please take it up with him. _

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**Chapter 41: Friday B II**

Sarah's barely watching the road and it's probably for the best. If she were, she'd realize Chuck was driving like a maniac—again. Years of her bugging him not to drive like such a grandmother never affected his driving before, but somehow in this one week, Chuck's suddenly picked up her penchant for recklessness behind the wheel. She really wishes he hadn't, because he's really terrible at it and she has enough to worry about as is.

Rather than have a panic attack, she tries to occupy her mind by going over all the facts again in her head. It's a short list that doesn't make any sense and she's already run through them verbatim a hundred times, but still one more time never hurt anyone.

Someone means Chuck harm.

That someone has to be well-connected.

That someone was at the wedding on Wednesday.

That someone has to know Chuck, ergo Chuck must know them?

Sarah sighs. The Director was right. She was a bottom-of-the-rung agent.

Stealing a glance at Chuck's profile, she swears to herself she won't let him down. It's the very least she can do for him, after all their time together, to make sure that he's safe.

"I promise," she whispers.

Chuck suddenly swivels his head to look at her. "Promise what?"

Sarah looks at him bug-eyed. "What?" _You heard that? _

"Sorry, you were saying something?" he asks and directs his attention back on the road.

"How could you have possibly heard that?" Sarah shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat. "Uh...I was promising you...that we'll get there on time, so you can ease up on the driving, yeah?"

Chuck smiles at her. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you cared more about this presentation than I did," he teases as he steps on the gas. Sarah clutches the passenger to brace herself. "Don't worry, I promise _you_ that we'll make it."

* * *

Dolores is waiting for Chuck at the convention doors like someone desperate to use the washroom, and perhaps that's it exactly. She's switching anxiously from one foot to the other whilst juggling a small tower of manila folders.

The poor woman's probably been waiting for her boss to show since the building doors first opened in the morning.

"Mr. Bartowski! Thank God, the presentation's about to start!" Her expression changes to one of confusion and then abject horror when she realizes that he's dressed in yesterday's crumpled suit minus a tie. "Mr. Bartowski!" she utters, almost like an admonishment, except she looks far too frightened to make the statement stick. "Oh no, what happened to you? Were you mugged?"

Chuck looks down at himself and tries to smooth out the wrinkles with his palms but there's really nothing to remedy the careless abandon of the previous night. They both look like they've just rolled out of bed, which is more or less the truth.

"Uh...no. I forgot about the presentation actually—"

"_Forgot?"_ she shrieks. "You forgot about the event we've been planning all year?" Dolores seems personally affronted.

Chuck's a terrible liar and thankfully he avoids digging himself a deeper hole by keeping quiet.

"It was my fault." Sarah catches up to her husband and tries to look apologetic even when she isn't feeling very sympathetic towards the secretary's plight. The presentation may be the biggest bee in her bonnet, but it certainly wasn't high on Sarah's list of priorities.

"I'm sorry. Surely there's a spare suit you have somewhere for him."

Dolores looks at her, slack-jawed in amazement. Sarah knows what the woman must be thinking. Charles Bartowski's wife is going to single-handedly run this company into the ground.

Sarah arches a brow. "You do, don't you?" she repeats, forcing the woman to snap out of her daze. And just like that, she's shifted the fate of the company onto the young woman's lap. No suit equates no presentation equates no money; if she solved for X she'd see the end of her job.

Dolores swallows slowly. "I'll call Antoine, give us thirty minutes." she says and gives a wavering smile.

She unloads the pile of folders into Chuck's arms and takes off sprinting towards the parking lot. She's awkward on her high heels, but Sarah has to give her credit; she's moving well for someone not experienced at sprinting full speed in confining business attire.

"Who's Antoine?" Sarah asks.

"My Los Angeles tailor," Chuck explains.

"Couldn't we have just stopped by there instead of not eating waffles shaped like R2D2?"

He frowns at her for a moment. "I guess it wasn't that important." He takes a deep breath as he eyes the flight of stairs before him and offers the crook of his elbow.

"Ready?"

Sarah takes a deep breath of her own as she loops her arm through.

_Ready as I'll ever be. _

She gives a nod and then, Chuck and Sarah enter the convention center.

* * *

Chuck adjusts his tie in the dressing-room mirror and gives himself one last once-over. Satisfied, he spins around and waits expectantly for his wife's appraisal.

"How do I look?"

Sarah's been silent the entire time and even though she thinks he looks perfectly fine—no—more than fine, absolutely adorable and handsome and dapper—she won't admit it.

Crossing her arms, she leans against the wall with a defeated look. "I wish you didn't have to go out there," she says.

Chuck's smile drops. "Do I look that bad?"

"Chuck!" Sarah walks over to him and habitually adjusts his tie, tempted to simply yank a little harder and threaten to strangle him if he doesn't comply. "This isn't a game. I have a really bad feeling about this."

Chuck gives her his best Wookie yodel and Sarah looks angrily at him. "This is serious! Can't you let Hawkins make the presentation?"

"No, I mean it's Hawkins' company but other than the finances, he didn't really have much to do with the game. He'd be less than hopeless."

Sarah rolls her eyes. _How convenient. _Just another reason the dirt bag should be public enemy number one.

"Can't you just give the speaker's notes to Dolores?"

Chuck's eyes widen. "_Dolores?_" He laughs and takes Sarah's hands off the tie, preventing her from constricting the knot any more than she already has. It's the first time his hands feel damp to her. "No. Dolores is quite lovely but believe it or not that room of computer geeks out there would be disappointed if she gave the speech instead of me."

"Quite lovely?" Sarah growls reflexively.

Chuck's eyebrows shoot up. "Er... Um, I'm not sure... I mean I've never really looked, but...uh...you know the guys, they say so."

Sarah gives Chuck the _look_ and small beads of sweat appear on his forehead. Unfortunately, she's given up all right to be jealous five years ago. She glares at him for a moment more before she drops the subject.

"I guess I'll have to go," she says. Then with a trace of bitterness she adds: "I'm quite famous you know, like the Loch Ness Monster."

Sure she doesn't have a clue what her husband does for a living, but she's pulled off her fair share of scams. Surely this won't be any different. Loosen a few buttons on her blouse, smile big and look pretty...she probably doesn't even need to talk about the game.

"You?" Chuck wrinkles his brows but when he realizes she's serious, he quickly loses the smile. "No, don't be ridiculous. Sarah, relax. What's the very worst that could happen today?"

Sarah clutches her chest to make sure her heart hasn't leapt out at the outrageous suggestion.

What _couldn't_ go wrong today?

"Chuck!" She grabs his shoulders before he can think of evading her. "Don't say that!"

Chuck sighs. "Sarah." He matches her action and takes her by the shoulders, giving them a shake to make his point. "I promise you, under no circumstance, will I give anyone the key. Even if they have the program, it won't be any use to them. It can't be activated by anyone but me and I wouldn't. You know me, I wouldn't."

His reassurances are as helpful as applying a band-aid to a gunshot wound. The program is the least of her worries. Doesn't he know what they'll do to him if he doesn't talk? Doesn't he realize he's putting his life on the line here by stepping onto the stage?

Sarah panics and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"No! Chuck, give it to them!"

"What?"

Even the few seconds she has to clear her mind doesn't sway her from her earlier outburst.

"If anything happens, you give it to them, do you hear me? Don't be the hero, it's not worth it."

"Not worth it?" Chuck shakes his head. "How can you say that? They sent you here for this." Chuck pulls a small USB key out of his pocket and holds it up in front of her. "You're here to protect this, not me."

Sarah has to suppress the sudden urge to growl. Doesn't he know where her loyalties lie by now_? _

"Sarah, don't worry." He gives her a quick peck on the brow but she's far from placated. "I promise, I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I swear."

Sarah stares at him, her mouth gaping open in a mixture of shock and horror.

How dare he? He's stolen the very words from her throat. It was _her_ job to protect him!

"No—Chuck—" He's not listening however and there's a quick knock at the door to signal that the stage is ready for him.

Chuck rubs her shoulder and takes a deep breath. For a glimmer of a second, she catches a flash of doubt—indecision—fear?—before it's replaced by a self-assured look once again.

Chuck slips the small memory stick back in his pocket.

"I guess this is my big moment, huh?"

Sarah opens her mouth to argue, but Chuck is already headed for the door.

"Chuck. Stop."

He freezes a few steps from the door and Sarah quickly closes the distance between them as he turns around. She throws her arms around his neck and presses a fierce kiss against his lips. It's not sweet or romantic; it's the desperate act of a desperate woman.

When she pulls back Chuck's shocked expression melts into one of confusion. "What was that for?" he asks.

"Just in case," Sarah replies.

"Just in case of what?"

"Just in case I don't get another chance to do that," Sarah admits. She wipes her lipstick off his lower lip and adjusts his tie quickly, letting her fingers trail down the silken strip.

"It'll be fine," Chuck assures. He voice is strong, but still she doesn't think he really believes it himself.

"After your speech, come directly back here," Sarah says. "Lock the door and don't let anyone in until I come for you."

"Sarah, I have to talk to the press and there will be investors..."

"Chuck." She anchors his face so he has no choice but to meet her eyes. "Promise me."

She stares into those familiar brown eyes and tells herself that she'd know if Chuck were lying to her. She'd know.

Chuck would never go back on a promise. He'd never lie to her.

He couldn't. He wouldn't dare.

"Promise me!" she presses when he still hasn't said anything.

"I promise," Chuck says, and his gaze remains steady.

Sarah nods. Her mind tells her his word is good but her heart continues to beat erratically.

"You better go," she says, fighting against every instinct.

"Are you going to watch?" Chuck asks.

Sarah nods. "I'll be there."

Chuck beams. Truthfully she never thought it would matter to him to have her in the crowd. She wasn't anything like his target demographic.

"Don't worry, Sarah." He rubs her shoulder and kisses her much too briefly on the lips. "Trust me."

* * *

Sarah watches as Chuck is led away to the stage. She feels slightly stupid for not forging some sort of access pass before today, and the impressive looking security guards didn't look the type to just let her through on sentimental terms so she has no choice but to accept their temporary separation.

At least there is security. It's a small note of reassurance but not nearly enough for her.

Sarah hurries out into the main hall where the masses are already crowding around the stage. Rock music plays and a demo of Tropic of Cancer is being projected against the backdrop.

Sarah doesn't play games but even she gets the gist of it after a few minutes. The scene is filled with cut after rapid cut of characters killing each other and blood spewing everywhere. Much of the game takes place in a tropic jungle and while the scenery is beautifully rendered, the bright splashes of blood and dismembered body parts greatly detract any appeal it could potentially have for Sarah.

The crowd is getting revved up and there's a burst of cheers with each kill shot that's delivered.

_These are Chuck's fans?_

A small part of her is taken aback. She can't honestly believe that her husband would make something so soulless and violent. It's not like him...or at least the person she used to know.

The poor taste of the game is hardly her problem though. The hall is a nightmare. There's too many people and too many angles for the stage; there's no way she can stop someone if they were to take a shot at Chuck.

The thought makes her so nauseous it threatens to reject the sludge she had for coffee this morning. She knew it was a bad idea to eat so much for such a nerve-wracking day.

Sarah walks shakily towards the closest door to the stage; she can barely hear anything over the music and the sounds of automatic weapons firing. This is nothing like the way she imagined a technological convention. Why couldn't the geeks just sit quietly and let her have some peace of mind to scout the place? She doesn't even think any of them would notice if she lost a few layers of her clothing right now, which, twisted as it may seem, was a bit of a disadvantage.

Up front the crowd is more densely packed than she realizes and she has to accept that she's not able to get any closer than a few feet from the stage. The emcee suddenly walks out on stage and Sarah feels the whole crowd congeal collectively in an effort to get closer to the front, pushing her directly up against complete strangers. Sarah has to push back to maintain some semblance of personal space.

Scenes of repetitious killing flash across the large backdrop along with the company logo.

It catches fire and the letters burn, the fire flickering back and forth. Above the burning letters appears the heading: _Charles Bartowski Presents:_ and below the title in smaller letters: _A StarHawk EA Game. _

"Sarah!"

Sarah hears her name and whips around. Archibald Watts and Chris Hawkins are standing a few feet behind her in the cheering crowd. Archibald waves her over and Sarah wades over to them against the wave of fans as the emcee starts his introduction.

"Wow!" the emcee cries. "Did you see that?" The crowd predictably cheers. "Well we have a special treat for you today! The creative genius behind Tropic of Cancer and so many of your favourite games is here today in this very room. Let's give a huuuuuuuuuuuuge welcome to the creator of Tropic of Cancer, Mr. Charles Bartowski!"

Sarah thought the room was deafening before, but as she turns and watches Chuck walk out on stage she can't believe the cacophony. Her eardrums literally hurt from the roar of the crowd and even after a week of experiencing it, it's still weird to see Chuck being treated like a rock star.

"Thanks! Thanks, really." Chuck waves to the crowd and his attempts to settle them down only encourages them to scream all the louder.

"Wow!" Chuck shouts over the crowd. "You have no idea how much that means to me. I've always really appreciated the support of the gaming community." The crowd quiets to hear what he's saying. "While you're all in the mood for clapping let's give it up for the people who actually did all the hard work on this release!" The crowd having been given permission to get noisy again once again cranks up the noise, but this time Chuck tucks the microphone under his arm and applauds with them.

Sarah's finally made her way over to Hawkins and Watts, but they have to shout to be heard over the crowd.

"He's pretty amazing on stage, isn't he?" Watts asks with a proud smile painted across his face. Sarah smiles uneasily. She'd been afraid her earlier confrontation with his wife would make for an awkward conversation but it doesn't appear that Melinda's told him.

_Thank god. _She doesn't think she can take any more stress today.

"He has always had a way with the people," Hawkins agrees.

"He's amazing." Sarah nods and even she can't help the rush of admiration from showing on her face when she looked at Chuck. He was amazing, in every sense of the word.

"You should have seen him at Comicon two years ago," Watts says. "It got so loud the vibration almost knocked the stage down."

Hawkins nods. "That was a good year."

"So what are you guys doing way back here?" Sarah asks, as Chuck starts moving around the stage and settling people down again. She would never have imagined these two mingling with the _common_ folk.

"We came to watch the show," Watts replies.

"Wouldn't miss it!" Hawkins smiles. "This is the fun part."

"Thanks everybody!" Chuck shouts into the mic. "They really deserved that. We've got a great team." Chuck takes a deep breath. "That's what makes it so hard to come out here and give this speech."

Confused, the crowd instantly quiets as Chuck's countenance grows increasingly serious.

"What's he doing?" Hawking mutters, but Sarah can only shrug.

"It's been an interesting week," Chuck continues. "There's been a lot of great events and galas, one of our own even got married. I've gotten the chance to see a lot of old friends, some I wasn't sure I'd ever see again and it made me think."

Sarah knows she's only one in a thousand down here, that the stage lights probably made it impossible for him to see anyone clearly from where he was standing, but she was almost sure Chuck was looking at her at that moment.

"It made me think about why I started Nerd-E Games all those years ago and why I make games today. It made me think about what's really important." Chuck pauses and it's so quiet in the arena you could hear a pin drop.

"You see, I started out trying to make games that everyone could enjoy. Something new and innovative; games that could give the players a great experience. And despite the awesome graphics and really terrific gaming engine, we've failed at that here today."

The crowd starts to murmur with discordance and beside Sarah, Hawkins growls.

"What is he doing? He's ruining everything!"

"It was my responsibility you see to make sure that this game lived up to the standards you've come to expect and for a lot of reasons I've failed you." The crowd goes silent again. "It's hard sometimes to see the forest for the trees. You think everything is fine and then you get to the end of the path and you realized that you didn't see the signs. That there were problems from the beginning that you didn't address, that there were opportunities that you missed. What I know is, I'm going to do better. StarHawk EA is going to do better. I just really hope you can give us another chance."

Sarah stares dumbstruck at the stage. Was Chuck talking to the crowd or was he talking to her? He didn't have any reason to be sorry for their predicament, but the message felt very personal.

Hawkins shoved the people in front of them out of the way as he scrambled for the stage.

"You'll ruin us!"

"Ah, Chris, there you are!" Chuck says cheerfully. "Chris Hawkins, our CEO, and I would like to offer anyone who's purchased the game their money back for the next two weeks!"

"No!" Hawkins screams and turns to the crowd in abject horror. "We will do no such thing. No money-backs!"

"Yes, we do!" Chuck corrects.

Hawkins attempts to climb on the stage in a frenzy of motion, but two large security guards grab him and pull him down. "Let me go! He's ruining my company!"

Everyone (Sarah included) watches in frozen shock as the company's leading man is dragged through the crowd and out a side door. Eventually his furious shouts and threats dim until they can no longer be heard.

"Thanks for coming everyone! I promise our next game will be amazing!" Chuck waves to the crowd and then wanders offstage in what has to be the most shocking if not eccentric press-releases of the year.

Grumbling and murmurs of malcontent are the general consensus in the room but with the presentation effectively over, the crowd begins to mill out of the arena.

"Wow," Watts says, shaking his head and laughing at the same time. "That man really knows how to wreck a party."

Sarah's still so focused on Chuck's speech that she barely notices Watts. When she comes to, she looks at him strangely. "What?" she asks, feeling like she's missing the punch-line.

"You know, Chuck always does the right thing. Don't get me wrong, it's crazy, he's going to bankrupt the company, but Chuck's always thinking about the other guy."

The comment causes Sarah to frown. She still doesn't see what's so funny.

"It's your company too, aren't you worried about all the money you're going to lose?"

Watts laughs. "Me? No, it's great for me. I mean I've known since I saw the pre-release that this game was going to bomb. I just never thought in a million years that Chuck would hand it to me on a silver platter. Kind of makes all this silly."

"What's this?"

"Selling Chuck's software out from under him. After I short the stock I'll need enough cash to buy the entire company." Watts shakes his head, the grin not once leaving his face. "I never dreamed I'd make this much on the short though."

All of a sudden the room becomes very, very cold. Sarah feels as if the blood in her body has been replaced with ice.

"It was you." Sarah can't even muster the enthusiasm to shout the accusation. She's still trying to process what's just happened.

All this time...

"You sold SIMIAN!"

_Oh God._ Does Chuck know? She can't imagine what this will do to him if he discovers the truth.

Watts nods, clearly proud of the fact, and the sight triggers Sarah back into agent-mode. In the blink of an eye she has her gun out and trained on the man's gut.

"Chuck trusted you!" she snarls.

Watts blinks slowly and for someone seconds from death, he's taking it all very well. "Hey, all Chuck had to do was play along and he'd have made a good chunk of change. It's not like I'm going to fire him. As long as he cooperates, he can come work for me at our new company—Nerd-E Interactive. I always thought StarHawk was a terrible name."

"You can't be serious," Sarah says. "You're going to prison. Get your hands up!"

Watts just smiles. Sometime was definitely wrong. "Come on, Sarah, don't you get it? They sent me here for you. If you don't give me your gun and come with me...they'll hurt Chuck. I have no idea who you really are or who Chuck is to you—

"I mean you certainly tore apart that warehouse without much regard for the people inside, but if you want Bartowski to get out of this unharmed, you'll give me your gun."

"Maybe." Sarah shrugs, trying to downplay just how frightened she really is. "Or maybe I'll just shoot you and take my chances."

For the first time all conversation Watts looks uncomfortable. "Let's hope not. Look, I'm serious when I say I want Chuck to get out of this unharmed. He is my friend, after all.

"So I need you to come with me and help me get him to give them SIMIAN. They aren't going to let him go without it. So either you give me the gun and we try and convince Chuck to just give them the program or you do whatever you're going to do and we all die."

Watts checks his watch. "I'd say we've got about four or five minutes before they shoot him so by all means take your time."

"No."

"No?" Watts asks in surprise. He shakes his head and whistles in admiration. "Wow. You're a real cold-blooded woman. Even for a cover, that's pretty heartless."

The words sting more than Sarah will ever admit. "I asked him to meet me, I'm sure he's fine." She pulls her phone out from her pocket and dials Chuck's number. With each ring that goes unanswered, Sarah's stomach sinks a little lower. She lets it go for ten rings while Archie calmly waits to be proven right but finally, even Sarah's not willing to gamble with any more time.

"All right fine, but if anything happens to Chuck, I swear, I'll make sure you die," Sarah hisses. She hands her gun to Watts who immediately turns it around and points it at her.

Sarah holds her hands up in the air. She has nothing left to gamble with but herself, but she figures for Chuck, it's enough.

"Thank you, I really do want all this to work out. He gives them what they want and we can all get away happy. I get StarHawk, you go back to wherever the hell you've been hiding and Chuck and I get rich and make software together."

"Keep dreaming," Sarah grumbles.

At this point the crowd has already completely drained from the auditorium. Watts turns her around and pushes her to walk in front of him. He points the gun against her back and directs her through the same door Hawkins had been dragged out of.

"Let's go."


	42. Friday B III

_A/N: __So i wasn't going to post this tonight but someone asked me very nicely and i couldn't say no...but you better remember your end of the deal =P  
_

_I really consider this THE chapter. There are many reasons but it would be spoilerish of me to list them here.  
_

_I really want you guys to approve of this chapter so i gave** mxpw **and the esteemed **DLK **an advance screening and they gave me the green light. no shark jumping, no two-by-fours, no minute brunettes in sight, i promise. (if you didn't know before just go back and read previous reviews; **mxpw **is probably my biggest anti-sarah fan and incredibly hard to please)_

_A great big thanks goes out to **Altonish **for writing the action scenes in this and the last chapter; they are really more him than me so he deserves the credit. __  
_

* * *

**Chapter 42: **

Watts pushes her through the hallways of the convention center. At one point the place had been packed with people but now it's so deserted it's downright eerie.

"Keep moving," Watts prods. "Move faster."

Sarah quickens her steps just slightly. She knows she could just as easily catch him off guard and take the weapon out of his hand but it doesn't leave her with much. She may be able to beat the information out of him (she might even enjoy it a little) but who knows if she'd be able to save Chuck in time on her own

So despite everything, Sarah allows herself to be pushed deeper and deeper into the bowels of the convention center.

They go around a corner and come across a huge man Sarah recognizes as one of the security guards who'd prevented her from following Chuck backstage. He smirks when he sees her and raises his gun as a ways of salutation.

_So much for having to just disable Watts. _

"The boss wants to talk to you," he says is a thick Russian accent. Between the accent and the deep booming voice he sounds awfully simple but he's managed to fool Sarah all this time so there's obviously more to him than what meets the eye—that or she's lost what little skill she had left as a spy.

The man takes the gun out of Watts' hand and aims it back on him.

"Hey!" Watts protests. "Don't point that thing at me!"

The man grunts. "You'll get your money if we get the software." He pushes Watts forward with a rough shove but is wary to stay out of Sarah's immediate reach.

He waves the gun at her, indicating that he wants her to follow.

"You aren't scared of little old me are you?" Sarah asks with an innocent smile.

"_Nyet_," he replies. "But you did kill the General, so I respect you. I wish I could have been there to see it happen."

Sarah arches a brow. "Not a fan?"

"Like any tool, the General was useful, but I did not appreciate his tastes. Still he was my comrade and you must pay for what you have done."

"Interesting accent," Sarah remarks. "Mafia work not paying enough, so you went with freelancers?"

The man's accent immediately disappears. "The mafia has its place as well, but I didn't spend twelve years in the KGB to become a thug." He waves at a closed door just ahead of them. "Open it."

Sarah drags her feet along, silently hoping he'll get impatient and come a little closer. The man's obviously experienced though and stays well out of her striking range.

_Shame. _She hates walking into the unknown but it doesn't look like she has much of a choice in the matter. She still has her knives as a last resort, but quick as she is, he'll probably get a shot in before she can kill him.

Sarah takes a deep breath and opens the door to find a depiction straight out of one of her nightmares. There's two men in the room, one in the corner with a laptop and another looming in front of Chuck.

The larger of the two men whacks Chuck across the face and it hits with a sickening thud. "Tell me how to access it!" he screams.

Chuck takes the blow far better than Sarah would have expected. The chair he's bound to skids back and threatens to topple over but Chuck finds his balance and shrugs it off.

It's obviously not the first time they've hit him but she can still see the slight masochistic gleam in Chuck's eyes.

It's that particular expression that upsets her more than anything. He looks just like an old spy who's more familiar with pain than the absence of it.

Sarah gets pushed forward and Watts follows after. The pseudo-security guard steps in last and slams the door to a close.

"Ah good!" the assailant who'd hit Chuck declares when he notices the additions to the room. "If you don't care about yourself, Mr. Bartowski, perhaps you care about this woman?"

Chuck's face, bloody and swollen, is a difficult one to read but Sarah catches the way his cavalier stubbornness wavers at the realization.

"Although you didn't seem to the last time we had this little chat," his partner adds, pointing his gun straight at her forehead. "You and I have unfinished business."

"I'm afraid you must have mistaken me for someone else," Sarah replies. She maintains an even tone but the stakes are far higher than she's willing to gamble. Chuck is bound and she's essentially without a weapon and there's no hope for backup.

"No. We _did_ mistake you for someone else, Ms. Walker, but the picture is clearer than ever now. You are a woman without a past." He smiles smugly at her. "I smell a cop."

Sarah shrugs, hanging onto the last fibres of her act. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm from San Diego. Tell him, honey."

Chuck spits out a mouthful of blood and the sight causes Sarah's insides to burn with rage. "It's true. She's from San Diego."

"I don't think so." The man shakes his head. "I saw what you did to the warehouse. Tell me, how did you survive?"

Sarah shrugs. "Just lucky, I guess."

"You're funny," he deadpans. "I doubt the General would appreciate your sense of humour."

"That's true," she agrees. "He didn't seem to appreciate bantering much."

"Yes, well I always enjoy avenging a friend. Mr. Bartowski, tell me how to access the program or I shoot her right now."

For a moment nothing happens. The only noise to be heard is the steady hum of the machines that run the arena—probably the motor for the HVAC system—but even the faint thrum sends goosebumps down Sarah's back.

She looks at Chuck and shakes her head ever so slightly.

Everyone stands frozen in their places, waiting to see who will be the first to cave. The man cocks his gun and Watts breaks.

"For God's sake, Chuck, just tell them! It's not worth dying over!"

Chuck bites his swollen lip.

"He's right, Chuck, get them to let you go and then give them SIMIAN."

Her announcement obviously surprises Chuck as he briefly makes eye contact with her. The choice is as clear as day. What is one program in the end? Sarah's uncovered enough ants; eventually the CIA will find the anthill.

"Chuck!" Sarah repeats when he still refuses to speak. Chuck's eyes tell her everything she needs to know and she's fast losing her patience.

He can be so infuriatingly stupid sometimes!

He's making her promise to him impossible to keep and she fully intends to bring it up, if she can get them out of here alive.

"Not so fast. Nobody is going anywhere until I confirm it works." The man waves in the direction of his partner who is situated near a laptop. Sarah can see that they've already extracted the USB key from Chuck.

"You already have the program," Chuck says. The words come out with a slight lisp and her heart breaks at the sound. She desperately wants to hit something.

"But it doesn't fucking work!" the man shouts.

"It works fine." Chuck shrugs. "SIMIAN, search Karl Heidelberger."

The man at the laptop jumps. "It's working! It's working!"

The elation quickly passes however. He turns around, storms over to Chuck and without warning strikes him across the face. Chuck winces slightly but gives no further sign that he'd just been beaten.

"How did you know my name?" he demands, withdrawing his firearm. Now there are two guns aimed in his direction and one in Sarah's.

_The odds keep getting better and better..._

"Lucky guess?" Chuck murmurs. Karl strikes him against the temple with the butt of the gun and Chuck groans. Sarah twitches and nearly forgets where she is. Only the gun pressed against her forehead stops her from going to Chuck's defence.

She glares at Karl. "Leave him alone," she growls. "_I_ told him your name."

"You?" he shouts, whirling around. There are two guns pointed to her head now instead of Chuck's, which is, sadly, an improvement "You've never even seen me!"

Sarah gives a derisive laugh. "Please. We've been on to you for months. Just because we couldn't find you doesn't mean we didn't know who you were." She's lying through her teeth and they're none the wiser.

The man closest to Chuck walks over to the laptop. "It's true, Boss, they've got known aliases on here and your current address..." He clicks something. "Hey, is your middle name really—"

The man doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence on account of the fact that parts of his brain now decorate the back wall. Watts stifles a barely suppressed scream and even Sarah's taken aback by Karl's sudden violent outburst.

Karl, on the other hand, barely blinks at what he's done. "SIMIAN, search Delphi Weapons Research Facility!" he orders.

When it doesn't give the result he's expecting, the hand holding the weapon begins to shake again with rage. The thug who'd brought Sarah in shifts uncomfortably in his place and Watts appears seconds from throwing up.

Karl swings his gun around at Chuck again. "How do I make it work?"

Chuck stares down the barrel of the black weapon and says nothing. It's almost like he wants the man to pull the trigger.

"Fine." Karl turns back to Sarah and grabs her by her hair, yanking her forward. It's so unexpected she doesn't have time to react and the next thing she knows, she's been forced on her knees in front of Chuck with the barrel of the gun against the back of her head.

"Tell me or she dies." The man yanks on her hair again, harder, and Sarah's eyes sting with tears. She tries to resist but it only makes him pull harder, harder, until all she can see is the ceiling.

The threat shakes Chuck's confidence. From the corner of her eye she sees him and can tell the exact moment his brown eyes shift from determination to defeat. He's no longer Charles Bartowski; he's Chuck, he's her husband.

Sarah closes her eyes and makes a silent plea. _No. No. No._

Chuck's made up his mind however. "The program only answers to me. It accepts voice input from a single operator...me," Chuck explains. "It was a security precaution I added after the program became dangerous."

"Oh, Chuck, no," Watts moans.

"So..." Karl drawls.

"So...it's useless," Chuck says.

"I paid you for nothing?"

Sarah's not sure who he's talking to, all she can see is Chuck, but then she hears Watts' reply.

"We can fix it. We can reprogram it..."

"No." Chuck's lone voice is authoritative and final. "SIMIAN, empty Karl Heidelbeger's bank accounts!"

"No!" Sarah screams. Her whole body shudders when she feels the cold metal remove itself from the back of her head and a single nine millimetre register in the air.

She doesn't have time to think—her window of opportunity appears for a second and no longer. Freed, she swings her fist upwards into Karl's crotch with as much force as she can muster and knows she's found her mark when she hears a sickening crunch.

Karl screams and drops to the ground. Sarah rolls him over and picks up his gun, finishing him with as much thought as he might have given her had the tables been turned. She doesn't feel guilty about it, not even a little.

His accomplice starts shooting and Sarah rolls up to her feet, firing in the general direction of the thug.

"Don't shoot!" Watts screams just as his captor takes another shot at Sarah. "Please don't shoot!"

Sarah pays little heed to the man's human shield as she returns fire. Her aim is good but not good enough; they miss their mark and one of the bullets strikes Watts in the shoulder.

Watts screams in agony and the thug dumps him on the ground, shooting at her twice as he dives for the cover of a nearby column.

Sarah runs and tackles Chuck, chair and all, and he groans as he takes their fall and her weight with him. Sarah shields him with her thin frame and then raises her gun. Her hand is trembling from all the adrenaline but she wills herself to take a deep breath—

—to breathe—

—and wait—wait for it—wait for it—

—just a peek from behind the column is all she needs to place a bullet right between the thug's eyes. The man keels over on the spot and collapses on the ground, raising a cloud of dust and debris in his wake.

Sarah lets the gun clatter to the floor as she tries to catch her breath. She's still shaking with adrenaline when she turns her attention to Chuck. She hasn't dared to think since she heard Karl take the shot.

"Chuck?" She tears frantically at his bindings. That's when she notices the blood on his shirt."Where are you hit?" Sarah demands as she finally works his hand loose.

"Hey, hey, Chuck?" she asks, slapping him gently on his already bruised face. "Hey, hey!" she calls, the pitch of her voice rising in urgency.

He doesn't answer her, just stares blankly at the ceiling.

"Chuck!" she screams "Chuck!"

Finally Chuck gasps for air, at last able to take a breath as his diaphragm recovers from the shock of the fall.

"Oh thank God!" Sarah clutches onto him, burying her face into his shirt. "Thank God!" Her relief is short-lived though. As soon as they pull apart, her eyes fixate on the blossoming red stain on his crisp white shirt. "Come on, Chuck, talk to me!"

Chuck looks at her and then at himself and the color suddenly drains from his complexion.

"Where does it hurt?" Sarah tugs out the ends of his dress shirt and tears apart the buttons, desperately searching from an entry wound but all she sees is blood.

"Chuck!"

He doesn't answer her. All he can do is stare.

"Chuck!" she cries, nearly shaking with hysterics. She's failed him.

"Help! Someone get help!" she screams, but there is no one.

"Sarah!" Chuck grabs her shoulder before she falls into him. "It's going to be okay, Sarah. Don't panic."

Sarah shakes her head. How can he make such promises to her? How can he give her hope?

She stares down at her hands and at her own shirt. _God_. Why was there so much blood?

"Don't panic. Sarah. _Sarah_. Sarah? Can you hear me?"

Sarah looks up at him, having lost her thoughts in the pool of crimson at her feet. "What?" she whispers. She shakes her head but Chuck's voice still sounds distant.

Chuck steadies himself against her—or was she steadying herself against him?

"I'm so sorry," he utters. He holds her gently, cradling her against his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Sarah smiles. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

Chuck doesn't say anything. He just stares at her and at all the blood. It's on his hands and hers; his clothes, her clothes, the floor...

And then Sarah realizes what she's missed in her panic. The blood. It's not his.

It's hers.

With trembling fingers she lifts up the hem of her shirt and for once she's grateful for a strong constitution. She doesn't feel much of anything as she examines the gushing wound with detached interest. It's as if she were looking over something in a specimen jar.

Chuck places her hand over the bleed and presses his hand over top hers. She winces and sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth. As if trying to make up for all the pain she's missed earlier, she feels as if someone's just tapped her with a white hot poker that just keeps getting hotter and hotter.

"It's okay, Chuck," she slurs. The fight or flight response has faded; she's in the clear. Chuck was going to be just fine.

"Where's your phone?" Chuck asks.

"My phone?"

"Your phone, I need your phone!" Chuck insists. Sarah's at a loss for who Chuck needs to call so badly. It couldn't be _that _important.

She rests her head against his chest and closes her eyes. She'd been running on edge for far too long, what she really needs to do is relax.

"Hey!" He jostles her just enough so she'll open her eyes. "You can't leave me, I'm not letting you go."

Sarah gazes up at him and catches all his tells; the film of tears in his eyes, the trembling in his lower lip—so much for a poker face.

"It's not really up to you," she says sadly. It's never been.

Chuck changes tactics, abandoning his threats and taking on something with far more arsenal.

"Sarah...please," he begs, clutching her close. "Please don't leave me."

She wishes she can wipe away the worry lines from Chuck's face, but she's promised herself she wouldn't lie to him anymore.

"Tell me what to do. Tell me and I'll do it. Anything." He kisses her against the brows and she thinks she feels something wet trickle down her cheeks. "Sarah?"

She smiles slowly at him. "Just hold me. I don't want to be alone."

Chuck nods and obediently pulls her tighter into his arms.

"No, I mean medically...come on, you must have some training, you know what to do." Chuck's hands finally find her phone stuffed into her back pocket. "Who should I call? You have numbers—people who can help—"

"No." She squeezes his shoulder and refuses to let go until he sinks back down onto the ground.

"There's no signal down here—"

"No."

_No, Chuck, don't waste your breath._

"Just stay with me," she tells him.

It's a selfish decision and she wonders if Chuck can see right through her. If he's finally figured out just how much of a coward she really is.

"I just don't want to be alone," she repeats.

With strength Sarah didn't know Chuck possessed he lifts her in his arms and starts running. Sarah gazes upwards as they pass ceiling light after ceiling light; through the hallways and up the flights of stairs.

Sarah can feel his heart hammering through his chest and she wishes he'd just listen to her. There's no reason to panic. There's no reason for all this drama.

_Just stay with me. _

_Never let me go._

He bursts through the doors and shouts: "Help! We need help!" at the top of his lungs. There's a few people within earshot and in a few moments she can feel people trying to pull Chuck away from her and set her on the floor.

With what little strength she has left, she tightens her grip on Chuck. "Please don't leave," she moans.

She can't stand the pain of being left behind and after watching everyone leave her one by one...her mother, her father, Sophie, the hope of a family...she knew what was coming next.

And so she ran.

Thankfully she's escaped her miserable fate. At least she won't have to die alone. Chuck pushes away the helpers and cradles her head as someone starts peeling back her shirt.

"Sarah." Chuck forces back the tears as he brings his lips closer to her ear. "We need to get you to a hospital."

_Too late._

She doesn't say it, but surely Chuck senses that something is terribly wrong. She feels weightless in his arms and if he were not so close to her, she would have already perished from the cold.

"Don't cry, Chuck," she begs softly, trying to summon the strength to wipe away his tears. Her hands are being crushed by his grip however, and she doesn't want to let go of him either.

"I'm not crying," he refutes, wiping his cheeks hastily against his shoulder.

"I wish..." Sarah starts, but it's hard to complete the thought.

"You wish what?" Chuck asks. "Hey come on, stay with me, you wish what?" Sarah's aware that there is a flurry of activity going on around her. Somewhere ambulances are being called and a doctor is being searched for, but all she can see is Chuck.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I wish we could have had a second chance...I wish I could have made things right. I wish I'd told you..."

"We can!" Chuck nods anxiously. "I just need you to stay with me! Just stay with me, Sarah!"

Sarah nods weakly, too exhausted to argue with him. She closes her eyes and feels the familiar unknown calling her name. She's driven down this road more than once before but she's not so sure she can find her way back this time around. She just doesn't have the strength.

The darkness begins to impinge on her just as Chuck shakes her by the shoulder.

"Hey! Sarah!" he calls. "Hey! Hey!" Every call becomes more pitched with urgency until he's nearly screaming at her. "Hey, hey! Where the hell's the ambulance!"

Sarah cringes and opens her eyes. For a brief second the light returns to her and out of the darkness she has a vision of all that could have been—the family she never had, the husband she was never there for, the life she turned her back on.

When the vision fades, Sarah realizes Chuck's talking on her cell.

"What do you mean you don't know who I am? Sarah. My wife, Sarah, your agent, she's hurt. I need to speak with the Director!"

She tries to tell him it's hopeless but if he can't feel the blood trickling down his arm, if he can't see the pool settling at their feet, then perhaps he simply doesn't want to see or acknowledge what's going to happen.

Chuck unleashes a torrent of expletives and if she weren't so tired, if it didn't hurt so much to breathe, she'd be laughing at the sight.

_Who would have thought? _Her nerd could mouth off with the best of them.

"God damn it, put me through or I'll have you charged with manslaughter!" Chuck doesn't wait for the excuses. "If he wants his intel you'd better get him on the damn phone!"

They aren't empty threats either, anyone can tell. Desperate people are volatile and irrational; you never know what will set off a walking time-bomb.

"You tell him..." He swallows carefully his voice drops to a whisper and Sarah swears she's never seen his eyes go so dark before. "Tell him he better get someone here to save my wife or he can go fuck himself."

Sarah feigns a smile. She's always wanted her last words to her employer to be something in the same vein.

Chuck drops the phone and Sarah hears his voice again, louder than ever.

"Hey, Sarah!" Chuck shakes her again. "Don't. Please."

_Why?_ she wants to ask. She stares at him helplessly, wondering why he's so stubbornly stayed with her despite everything. He's given her so many chances to redeem herself and she's failed him every time.

"Please," he begs.

"_Chuck..._" She means to say more but she's so tired she can barely take her next breath. "Chuck. I..."

"It's okay," he says, looking down at her through tear-stained eyes. "It's okay, I know."

"No..." She shakes her head. How could he possibly know when he's never heard her say the words?

She looks up at him, trying to remember the shade of those brown eyes for the last time.

"It's okay," he soothes, smoothing her hair. "I know, Sarah."

"_Chuck..._" All her strength fails her and she stares desperately into his eyes.

_I love you. _

_ I always have._

_I just couldn't let you break my heart. _

Her father taught her; she only had one. But she should have let Chuck take it for safekeeping rather than trying to protect it on her own. He would have taken better care of it.

Chuck nods. "I know," he whispers. "And I love you too."

Unconditionally. No fine print, no strings attached. Just love.

Lying in this broken body of hers, Sarah's never felt more whole.

Her lips tremble to hold a smile. There's always time to appreciate a little irony.

She rests her ear against his chest and listens to the steady reassurance that she's done her job, that she's kept her promise.

She wants to tell him he needs to move on, that five years has been long enough, that he should be with that Becky Birch if he wanted and she wouldn't mind, but the only words running through her mind are the ones she should have said all those years ago.

Sarah exhales and finally lets go of everything. Every regret, every argument, every hurt. She drops her defences, breaks down the walls, and opens the gates to let the feeling wash over her.

_I love you. _

Every moment she's ever memorized and tucked away for safekeeping; every shared smile—

_I love you. _

Kiss—

_I love you, you stupid fool. _

Embrace—

_I love you, you big nerd. _

Whispered promise—

_I love you, Chuck Bartowski. _

Every moment she's ever saved flits before her, and she's happy, so very happy, that she'd feel selfish asking for anything more. Some people never even got a second chance to be a real person.

Chuck holds her close and she can see that in his eyes, there is only her. She wills herself to focus, to stay with him just a little longer, so that he can see that she's the very same. There's only been him. Her world begins and ends with him.

Silence fills the space between them; all Sarah can hear are her shallow breaths and Chuck's stifled sobs. He still has tears in his eyes but he's stopped asking her to stay with him.

They both know it's out of their hands.

Sarah closes her eyes before her own tears betray her.

She hears something, a sort of humming like the sound that usually accompanies a violent jolt of adrenaline, but this time, she feels every muscle in her body give way.

"Sarah?"

_Chuck._

She feels the slightest shake of her shoulder but it hardly feels like anything at all.

_It's okay._

She barely feels his grip around her arm, the hand that was pressed over her hand...

_It's okay._

_I'm ready. _


	43. Saturday B I

_A/N: Hey, no rotten tomatoes or flailing limbs for the last chapter, that's a good sign, right? _

_We changed this chapter so so much from the original (parts of which are posted on my LJ; look under my profile) but I really think it's for the best. My gratitude goes to __**Altonish**__ who toils so tirelessly to make sure you all have something legible every week. _

_This chapter is totally different from the last 42. You'll see why in a second. Hope you enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 43: **_

_Sarah writes her name neatly in the appropriate blank. She takes a sip of tea, sits back in her chair and contemplates what she's gotten herself into, then picks up the pen again. Filling out the form feels like a betrayal, one which necessitates the need to finish before Chuck wakes up or—_

"_Morning." _

_Sarah raises her head and bites on her bottom lip. _Too late for that.

"_What are you doing up this early?" he asks as he strolls right past her for the coffee pot. _

"_I could ask you the same," she murmurs, quickly scribbling in the details. She no longer cared about writing neatly; she just needed to get it done. She's put it off for too long already. _

"_I missed you," he says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. "It's cold up there all by myself so I had to come find you." _

_Sarah quickly slips the incriminating paper to the bottom of the stack before Chuck turns around. She smiles encouragingly at him and her smile is reflected on his face. _

"_I missed you too." She gets out of her chair and faces him, keeping the files hidden behind her back. "Maybe we should go back to bed?"_

_Chuck saunters over and places a quick kiss on her lips. He tries to pull back but Sarah grabs him by his shirt and refuses to let go, taking the opportunity to extend the gesture and hopefully distract him. _

_It doesn't work. _

_Chuck quirks his brows. "Tempting," he says. "It is five in the morning, after all." Then a pause. "What were you doing down here?" he asks, sneaking a glance at the stack of papers she's tried and failed to conceal. _

"_Nothing," Sarah says. She turns around, slips the papers into a manila folder and tries to put them back in her attaché. _

_Chuck frowns and reaches out to stop her. "What is it?" he asks. Her evasiveness spurs his curiosity and he tries to open the folder for a better look. _

"_Hey!" she warns, trying to swat him away. "Stop!" _

"_Why?" Chuck does as she asks but that doesn't mean he's let it go. "What are you hiding?" His tone has changed to an accusatory one and Sarah knows she's caught._

_She grits her teeth; if she's going down, she might as well go down fighting. _

"_It's classified information, Chuck, my eyes only." _

_Chuck's frown deepens and Sarah's been married long enough to tell that the fight has only just begun. _

"_I saw my name," he says. _

_Sarah shrugs—whether to feign innocence or avoid the subject altogether, she'll never tell. "Don't be ridiculous," she says. She waves away Chuck's concern but he jerks the folder out of her hand before she can resist. _

"_Chuck, don't!" she exclaims, but her objections only serve to push him further. She tries to snatch it back but he sidesteps out of her way and quickly flips the folder open. _

_One glance is all it takes. She sees Chuck's mouth form a hard line and his jaw set in a way so completely uncharacteristic for him she's not sure he's really her husband anymore. Chuck isn't prone to anger but she's seen it enough times to recognize the warning signs. _

_This is exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. _

_Chuck leafs through the pages until he gets to the bottom. She can barely suppress a groan as he realizes what she's signed off on. _

"_What the hell?" Chuck looks up at her and she can barely meet his gaze. "Don't you think we should talk about this first?" _

_Sarah pulls the papers out of his hand and he doesn't resist further. "I just think I should be prepared," she says as she puts them away. _

"_Prepared for what?" _

_Sarah sighs. _

_"Hey! Look at me!" Chuck grabs her wrist and forces her to turn back around so she can see just how horrified he is. "What are you preparing for?" _

_Sarah shrugs. The answer is obvious, especially in her line of work, so she allows Chuck to connect the dots himself. "If something happens, I don't want you to have to deal with a bunch of paperwork. I don't want some doctor asking you to make a decision you can't bear to make."_

_Chuck stares at her, almost as if he couldn't believe she was serious. _

"_Thank you. That's _so_ thoughtful," he says and there's more than a hint of sarcasm thrown in for her benefit. _

_His tone says everything he hasn't and that's the problem, really. Chuck would never let her go and she'll be damned if she ends up some vegetable because he couldn't bear to pull the plug on her. _

"_Chuck!" Sarah grits her teeth. There's a reason she wanted to do this quietly on her own but she still doesn't see why he can't be more supportive. "All of this—" She smacks the folder. "—is for you. I'm just trying to make things easier in case I—" _

_Angry as she is, Sarah doesn't dare verbalize the big 'what-if'; if they're already fighting, verbalizing their worst fear will only make it that much worse. _

_Chuck holds up his hands, warding away Sarah's goodwill. "Yeah? Well don't!" He presses a finger to the closed folder. "Those aren't just your decisions, Sarah. They don't affect just you." _

_He softens his stance and grabs her by the shoulders, forcing her to look into his eyes. "We don't need a contingency plan. Just come home. You're not allowed to quit on me, Sarah." _

_Sarah allows herself to sink deeper and deeper into those dark brown eyes. She just wishes he could understand; everything she does, she does for him. _

"_I won't," she says. "But if something happens—" _

"_Sarah!' he warns. They've had too many close calls to speak casually about such things but it was important. These documents were important. _

"_Chuck." She wraps her arms around him before he can think of leaving the conversation; she can't bear for this small thing to ruin their entire weekend. _

_They're both looking at each other wondering where it goes from here when he asks her a question she isn't expecting. _

"_Is this because of the baby?" _

_Sarah wants to blurt 'no' but of course it is. She's never been more aware of her own mortality than since she found out there was new life growing inside of her. She's risked her life for years without ever thinking of the consequences…but death seems so much more final now. _

"_Well you know, we have a family to think of now," she explains. Her hand absent-mindedly brushes against her still-flat abdomen. Some days she had trouble convincing herself that they were really going to be a family. "The agency has benefits for their agents. It's important for the paperwork to be properly filed." _

_Chuck's not buying into it. "This isn't some substitute for having you home," he reminds. "Sorry about your wife," he adds mockingly. "But here's a big pile of cash." _

_Sarah lowers her eyes. "People make wills," she says. "People take care of..." Sarah wants to say 'the ones they love' but she just can't do it. "People take care of their families." _

_Chuck stares at her for a long time in silence. She has some idea of what he wants to say, but ever the gentleman, he won't word it the way she might. Finally it gets to be too much and Chuck pulls away, stalking off into the kitchen. _

"_I'm sure Ellie and Devon have written up a will too." She calls after him: "Are you going to phone them in Africa and yell at them too?"_

_Chuck thumps his head against the cool metal of the fridge door, hiding his true expression from her. _

"_Yeah, but they aren't doing this because they actually think they might die tomorrow." His voice is so desperate and Sarah only begins to realize that Chuck's never managed to deal with the realities of her profession. _

_He's scared, and there's nothing she can say to reassure him. _

"_Chuck, I'm just being practical. Nothing's going to happen to me…or you but we're going to have a baby. We need to think about these things. I'm just trying to be responsible." _

"_I guess we should go and take out some life insurance too, huh?" _

"_I already—" She stops short when she sees the expression in his face._

_Chuck looks all the more horrified. _

"_I'm being practical here," she reminds. "I'm taking responsibility—" _

_Chuck doesn't want to hear any more of it. "Don't do this." He snatches the papers off the desk and holds it out of her reach. "Please don't do this." _

"_Chuck," she warns and holds out her hand. "Give it back." _

_Chuck shakes his head and she realizes it's a choice. _

_Choose them or choose him. _

"_Is it the money, Sarah?" he asks and she wishes he wouldn't look so crushed. "We'll get by. Business is picking up. My next game could be big—"_

"_It's not the money, Chuck!" It has nothing to do with him, except that she wants to make sure he's looked after if anything were to happen to her. She's finally realized that she isn't invincible. _

_Why can't he see that? _

_Why doesn't he realize she's doing this for him? For _them?

"_Then it's me." _

_Sarah sighs. The truce was over and they were back to the very beginning. _

"_No. It's not," she says and he knows it's not. He has to. "I don't want to fight," she utters. "But refusing to plan for it won't keep it from not happening and making plans isn't going to cause anything to happen." _

_Chuck nods and reluctantly gives the folder back to her. _

"_I'm sorry. I don't want to fight either." His shoulders sag in defeat but he still returns to her and he's still willing to hold her. "I just don't want to lose you. I don't know what I'd do—" _

"_Don't—" She places her hand over his mouth. "Nothing's going to happen. It's just in case." _

_He swallows the rest of his words but she can tell what he's thinking. _

_She doesn't have a say in her own fate. No one does. _

"_Chuck, don't worry, I'll always come back to you. _I promise_." _

_

* * *

_

Chuck taps his foot up and down against the cement flooring and it's fast becoming some sort of a neurotic tic. He has to do something though; staring up at the ceiling hasn't helped, pacing back and forth hasn't helped. Nothing can get his heart to stop pounding in his ear; nothing can make the hollow feeling in his gut go away.

They'd taken away his blood soaked clothes and given him what looks to be a pair of white scrubs. Everything was clean and sterile here. He's washed his hands five...six...seven times already but sometimes you just can't wash the blood off your hands. He's been marked, red-handed, for his folly, for what he did to her. He can still smell the scent of blood on them—her blood; a fitting scarlet letter for his mistakes.

Her presence haunts him, and even now all he can do is replay the scene over and over again in his head. The blood, the weightlessness of her body in his arms, the way the light faded in those azure eyes—eyes that always said the things she held back. They were so full of life and watching them fade had been torture.

He'd been so stupid. Did he really think he could keep her back? Did he really think she would stand to let him take the fall? When they came for him after the presentation he hadn't even resisted. He just wanted it to happen as far away from Sarah as possible.

Sarah's given him reason to doubt in all spectrums of their relationship, but when it came to her job, when it came to protecting him—

He'd been an idiot to think he could protect her when it was already too late.

If he had known years ago that the program he fiddled with in his spare time would be the undoing of it all, he would never have written it. Hell, he never would have quit the agency and started his own business. He never would have left the Buy More and tried to make something of himself if it meant keeping Sarah safe.

All the choices and all his follies come back to haunt him.

If he knew he could spend one last week with her on the condition that it would also be her last week on Earth, would he still take it? Or would he simply live as half the person he truly was, with all of life's unanswered questions hanging over him and the divorce papers still locked in his office drawer?

If he hadn't met Archibald Watts, if he hadn't argued with her every time she was about to walk out the door, if he hadn't told her about the outdated flash he had...

He had so many chances but he took none of them. He kept pushing and pushing, and now...

Chuck shakes his head. He wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. He thought he had been when he'd signed the divorce papers and handed them back to her but that wasn't truly _goodbye._

Because _goodbye _meant there could be no future happiness. There was no moving on from goodbye. There was no chance he might someday run into her while strolling down the streets of DC or happen upon a picture of her on the front-page of the world news. He would never be able to wonder if she was happy, with a family of her own, or ever start a crossword on a Sunday and wonder if she was challenged by the same puzzle.

Goodbye meant never again.

_Shit._

Denial—the first stage of grief.

Chuck stands to his feet and begins to pace around the small room. No. He's not in denial. He just doesn't like making assumptions until he knows for sure.

Besides...he's stretched the lie for this long; a little bit longer won't hurt. And he realizes deep down in his twisted mind, he still wants to keep lying, because it's just what they did. She lied for him, and he lied for her...and if he were to stop—

It would mean that there was no reason to lie and it was over.

That the existence of Chuck and Sarah was over. And he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be just Chuck.

Chuck massaged the wedding band on his finger. He definitely hadn't prepared himself for a lifetime of just Chuck. He'd always believed somewhere in his heart that it wasn't over, would never be truly over, until…until now…

There's a loud _clang!_ the sound of a metal gate slamming against its counterpart and the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Mr. Bartowski," the Director greets and smiles sanguinely as if they were meeting in a spacious office rather than some underground holding facility in the middle of nowhere. "Good evening!"

A cluster of men in suits approach and Chuck feels he has no choice but to step back as they unlock the door and invade his private quarters. What small bubble of personal space he once had is quickly relinquished.

"Hello." Chuck can barely muster the will to look the man in the eye, much less fake a smile. If looks could deceive, this man would be the grand master. The Director's smaller stature matched with a disconcerting child-like face exuded an air of youthful ignorance and benign warmth.

Neither were descriptions that came to mind when Chuck recalled a certain phone conversation a few days earlier.

A piranha was probably a more apt description. Some bloodthirsty bastard who won't ever stop; not until he gets what he's come for.

"If you'll excuse us," the Director says nodding to the other agents behind him. Obediently the suits cleared out and closed the door behind them, leaving just Chuck to face their superior.

"So."

The Director leaves it at that.

Chuck stands perfectly still; arms at his sides. He's no longer someone who can be easily cowed by an expensive suit and a self-important manner.

He has nothing left to say to this man. There's really no point in anything at all.

"I'd like to go home now," he says slowly. He's not exactly sure where home is at the moment. He'd intended their last night in that house to be a happy one but it hadn't been for her sake. That last _hurrah_ had been for him. He'd been the one ready to say his farewells.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Bartowski. Your life is in significant danger and I'm afraid you will likely require protection for the rest of your life."

Chuck turns his head and even though it's just the two of them here in his immediate cell, he knows the others are no more than a few feet away. He can't imagine living under a microscope for a day much less for the next forty-fifty years.

"Try to understand, Mr. Bartowski. Everything we've done is in your best interest."

"Bullshit," Chuck growls. "Everything you do is always what's in _your_ best interest."

The Director's eyes darkened a shade. "Mr. Bartowski, I didn't cause this. You set us all on this course. The program you have developed and its potentials are really limitless but you created it and in doing so the danger that surrounds it."

Chuck's never been good about reading between the lines but suddenly it's all he can focus on, because what the Director really means...what he really should be saying is...

_It's your fault. All your fault. You did this to her. _

"Mr. Bartowski, I'm just trying to help."

Chuck doesn't bother answering. He stares at the director and shrugs. It wasn't untrue, but Chuck wasn't about to thank the Director for his role in this mess.

The Director sees that his original tactic isn't working so he softens his step. Chuck keeps his expression blank; he recognizes the signs of a negotiator when he sees one. This man has nothing on some of the people Chuck has had to deal with in the board room.

"I've been told by certain sources that you are a patriot, Mr. Bartowski. As a patriot, obviously you'd want to do what's best to protect your country."

Here it was, he's come to ask Chuck for the program. Apparently even the CIA's best and brightest couldn't get SIMIAN to cooperate. Chuck suppresses a small smile of satisfaction, mostly because he just doesn't feel like smiling ever again.

"Our country is under constant threat, Mr. Bartowski and we could use your help."

Of course, it always went back to the greater good. Everything was for the greater good; his marriage for God's sake was all part of a bigger picture.

"I'm sure Agent Walker—"

Something inside of Chuck snaps. He feels it and it's as real as if someone had come up and slapped him right across the face.

"Don't talk about her," Chuck snarls. He stands to his full height and towers over one of the most dangerous men in the country as if he were nothing more than an insect that deserved to be crushed under his heel. "Don't you dare talk about her like you knew her or cared about her. You know nothing."

_Shit._

Anger—the second stage of grief. Chuck takes a deep breath and sits back down on his small cot, feeling suddenly weary. No matter how much he hated the man before him, he had to keep his emotions in line. That's the only way he can hold himself together.

"I want to see her."

One last time. He's entitled to that, surely. They never got to have a proper goodbye before the medic team descended upon them.

_Denial. You're still in denial._

A good place to be, considering the option at the other end of the tunnel. Chuck doesn't want to grieve, because at the end of that road is acceptance and frankly there's no way to accept this. Sarah was right, there's nothing wrong with wallowing in the past.

"She's gone, Charles." The Director speaks in a voice so unaffected it's as if he were telling him the time or describing the weather. If Chuck carved through that man's chest with a knife, would he even find a heart or would there only be a shrivelled black lump where a heart once existed?

"The sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to deal with what's going on now."

"I_ need_ to see her," Chuck insists.

The Director sighs and his lips spread into a thin line. Patience is a touted virtue but Chuck has a prodigious stubborn streak.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Her body's been transferred to another facility for autopsy. It's not something you want to see, Charles."

The news cuts deep into Chuck's heart. It's more than just a physical separation, it's the not knowing, the fear that they'll hide the evidence and leave her where no one will ever find her.

"Where is she?"

The Director crosses his arms but gives no response.

"I'm her husband! I have a right to know."

"Mr. Bartowski, let's concentrate on those things which we can do something about. You're program for instance, this SIMIAN as you call it."

Chuck seethes to himself. He pushes the anger down…down…down and when he finally thinks he has some control over himself, he speaks again.

"I told you that if you couldn't save my wife, there's nothing I can do for you. We had our moment of negotiation on the phone. I gave you my terms. You save my wife or you go fuck yourself. Nothing's changed."

The Director is not impressed. "Charles," the Director says softly.

Chuck hates being called by that name but he tries not to let it show.

"Don't let her death be in vain. You have the power make it meaningful."

Chuck clenches his fists together but he doesn't let the anger enter his voice. "If you want it, you better get in your damn time machine because you lost the only bargaining chip you had when Sarah died. What part of that do you still not understand?"

The Director blinks slowly and from his muted countenance it would appear there was a lot he could not understand. Then again, he had hundreds of dispensable agents, but for Chuck, there was and could only ever be one Sarah.

Finally the man licks his lips. "All right. I understand these last few days have been a bit of a shock for you. I apologize you obviously need some time to adjust.

"And I'm sorry that you had to witness to such an extravagant display. Agent Walker shouldn't have engaged you in her demise. I assure you in the future that you will not have—"

_Extravagant? Demise? _That's how the Director describes having to hold the woman he loved while she bled to death?

Chuck feels his heart hammering in his chest and all the blood rushing to his head. Every instinct, every muscle and fibre of his being is telling him to tear the man to pieces.

"I can't do this." He holds up his hands, a silent plea for him to stop. "I can't speak to you right now."

The Director nods. "Naturally. Give it time, Charles. It gets easier. I'm sure a little time to contemplate things will help you see thing from a different perspective."

"Give it time," Chuck echoes. Then he laughs humourlessly. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I've played the waiting game before; it doesn't get easier. As for the program, you can forget it, I'm not helping you. I suggest you remove SIMIAN from the network before you piss it off."

For the first time the Director looks agitated. "You need us, Charles. We need each other."

"I just want to go home," Chuck repeats. "I want my wife's body and I want to go home."

"I can't do that, Charles. It's not safe out there." They spend a few moments in silence with neither man willing to give an inch.

"You can't keep me here," Chuck says.

"I assure you, I can."

Chuck gives a half-hearted smirk. He thought as much.

"You don't want to do that." Chuck shakes his head. "People will start looking for me."

"We've taken certain steps to prevent that," the Director answers.

Chuck closes his eyes. What he'd really like is to fly into a rage and beat the man to a bloody pulp. He wonders how far he'd get if he just lost it—a few punches, maybe a broken tooth or two—

And then this nightmare will end with a bullet between the eyes.

It would be so quick.

Chuck swallows back the bitterness.

"You told my sister I'm dead?"

"It was a necessary step."

Chuck closes his eyes. _Oh God. Ellie. _

Then again, if everything the Director says is true, what does it really matter?

"You're going to be sorry."

"What do you mean?"

"I took precautions," Chuck replies. "When news that I've been pronounced dead or missing reaches certain parties, they've been instructed to release certain information to the media. What you'd call, 'classified' information. Things you'll probably regret becoming public."

"What things?"

Chuck shrugs. "Just things."

The Director narrows his eyes at Chuck. "I don't believe you, why would you do that?"

Chuck actually manages to smile at that. "This isn't my first run in with the CIA."

"Mr. Bartowski!"

"I want out of here, and I want my wife's body."

"That's just not possible."

"Well you're the Director of the CIA. You damn well better make it possible," Chuck says. He looks into the man's eyes and feels no fear at all. He has nothing to lose.

"Mr. Bartowski, I suggest you take some time to adjust to your new reality," the Director replies, barely able to suppress the rage in his voice. "We'll talk more once you have a chance to think about things. Don't forget, we're the only friends you have left." With that the Director steps out of the room and slams the door shut behind him.

Chuck falls back onto his bed. It's all up to Morgan now. He sincerely hopes his friend still remembers the instructions.


	44. Monday C I

_A/N: Thanks **Altonish **for devoting time away from more important things to steer me on track and **mxpw **for giving me the go-ahead (if he says it's okay, it has to be okay). A far less popular version of chapter 44 should be available on my LJ sometime this week.  
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* * *

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**Chapter 44: **

_"This is really nice," she hears Chuck say. "How did we afford this again?" _

_ A cool breeze cuts through the tropical heat and lingers just long enough so that by the time it leaves, Sarah's grateful for the return of the late afternoon sun. _

_ "Hmm?" He prompts her with a gentle prod on the shoulder but Sarah can't be bothered to gain enough consciousness to form coherent words. _Hmm..._Chuck's right though; this _was_ really nice. _

_ "Remind me why we don't do this more often?" _

_ Sarah opens her eyes and looks over at her husband in the adjacent patio chair. "Because we're a civil servant and a small business owner?" She yawns and removes her sunglasses, braving the brilliant midday sun with her bare eyes. _

_ The sight startles her. It's not how she remembers it; somehow they have the pristine beach all to themselves. It's beautiful ocean side as far as she can see and the only sign of human interference are their lounge chairs and the beach umbrella Chuck's sitting under. _

_ "Do you want to go for a swim?' he asks, stretching his long limbs. _

_ The water's edge reflects like a million diamonds afloat on a sheet of cerulean silk. It's tempting...so very tempting. _

_ Sarah shakes her head as she stands to her feet and moves over to his lounge chair. He scoots over but even then they barely fit together on the seat made for one. _

_ "Maybe later," she says, kissing him. Chuck wraps his arms around her and presses her close against him and suddenly the flimsy lawn chair is the cosiest thing she's ever laid on. "Let's just stay here." _

_ Sarah sighs contently, resting her head just under the nook made by his neck and chin. Chuck dips his head, securing her in place, and hugs her tighter. _

_Sarah's never wanted a moment to stand still like she wants this one. It's perfect. Everything feels so perfect. For a little longer she can forget she was ever anything but Sarah Bartowski. For a little longer she can pretend she's not losing to the double-life. _

_Time seems to stretch with little consequence as she cuddles in Chuck's arms. Finally, in what feels like days later, she feels Chuck prodding her shoulder again. _

_ "No. Just a little longer," she pleads, burying her face into his chest and inhaling deep. "Let's just stay here a little longer." _

_ "You can't stay here forever, Sarah," he says. _

"_Why not?" And since when did Chuck care more about duty than she did? _

_He sweeps her hair to side, tucking them behind her ear. "Because this isn't real," he says. "This isn't us. Our life is back in LA." _

_His words sound imminent and Sarah clutches him tighter. _

"_What do you mean? This _is_ real," she insists. She sits up and tenderly strokes his cheek. "This is us." _

_He leans back in the chair and nods slowly even though Sarah can tell he doesn't believe her. _

"_This isn't a memory, Sarah," he says. "This isn't real." _

_Sarah's still in denial but the corners of this perfect reality are starting to curl back. _

"_Think. We were in LA. Remember?" He grips her tight and it's the only way Sarah doesn't try to run. "We were in LA." _

_A darker truth peeks through the edges and Sarah starts to tremble. She nods. "I remember. Chuck. Stop."_

Please stop.

Everything was perfect.

_She wants to run but Chuck's gripping her, tighter and tighter. _

"_You have to go back," he says, stroking her hair. "You made me a promise." _

_Sarah shakes her head. She remembers fragments—lying on the floor in Chuck's arms, blood everywhere, and before she knows it, tears are streaking down her cheeks. _

_She's really done it. She's really died. _

_Chuck looks at her sadly and wipes his thumbs tenderly across her face. This is it. _

_This is the end. _

_They're going to take her from paradise. _

"_I want to stay here with you," Sarah pleads. _

_He shakes his head. "You can't." _

_Simple as that. Sarah shakes her head. She's sorry, she's so very sorry; can't they give her another chance? She'll make things right, she swears. _

"_Let's just stay here a little longer," she begs as she lies back down, clinging to Chuck. "Just a little longer," she whispers. _

_Chuck doesn't fight her. "You made me a promise. You said you'd come back for me." _

"_I did," she says. "I'm here now." _

_She looks up and searches his eyes for an answer. _It's too late, isn't it? I'm too late.

"_You made a promise. I need you, Sarah." _

_Sarah blinks back tears. "But I want to stay with you," she says. It's taken her so long to get here, how can she forsake him now?_

"_It's okay." He kisses her, slow and tender, but Sarah wants more. If this is really it, then she wants everything. She wants enough of him to last an eternity. "Sarah—" He pulls back and stops her. "This isn't goodbye." He nips her gently on the lip. "I'll wait for you." _

_Sarah looks into Chuck's warm, loving eyes and then at the perfect view. It's a lot to give up. _

"_You promise?" she whispers. She takes his hand in a crushing grip. "Promise?" _

_He nods. "We'll see each other again soon. I promise." _

_Chuck's good on his word, she knows, but it doesn't have any effect on the pain building in her chest. _

"_I love you," he says. He kisses her again._

"_I love you too." _

_He smiles. "It'll be okay, Sarah."_

"_What'll be..." She's cut off by a crippling pain that shoots through her chest. She groans and tries to breathe through it but there's no air. _

_Sarah gasps. There's no air. _

"It'll be okay, just try and relax."

"_What?"_

"You're all right. Just give it a moment."

Sarah blinks and everything goes dark. No more beach, no more water, no more Chuck.

She's really, truly, alone.

"You're going to be alright. You're going to be alright. Just relax."

Sarah blinks again and the light returns; so brilliant and intense it threatens to burn out her retinas. She closes her eyes and shies away.

"Where am I?" Sarah tries to say but it comes out as a weak groan. She gags even though she realizes there's a tube in her throat for a reason.

"Try to _relax,_" the voice emphasizes but it only prompts her to tense up and fight against her own involuntary reflexes.

Sarah opens her eyes again but she's learned her lesson and braves only a slit. She sees the doctor in his white coat and she knows the worst is true.

_Oh shit._

She's still alive. Not very, her arms and legs feel like they are filled with sand and every movement hurts, but clearly she isn't dead.

"Don't try and speak," the doctor advises. "It'll take a moment to get the tubes out; just try and relax."

Sarah's been through this before, but it's difficult not to panic and just start yanking at things herself. The doctor does his work and Sarah gasps as she takes her first breath on her own; even something so simple and reflexive feels laborious after a machine's taken over.

She tries to speak again but her throat feels like it's been scratched raw. She reaches for her throat and mimes a few words.

The doctor hands her a cup with a straw. "Small sips, a few at a time." His manner is pleasant and Sarah complies obediently.

Her mind is full of questions but even the simple act of expanding her ribcage to breathe made her chest ache. The doctor waits patiently for several minutes while she labours to summon the energy to draw water up through the straw.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Like I've been shot," she groans. She's been through this enough times to know the drill. "How long have I been out?"

She tries to rub her smarting eyes but the resistance of the IV's in her arm give her reason to reconsider. There's a prodigious amount of thin plastic tubing running in and out of the port in her arm. She's really done herself in this time.

"You've been here a few days," is the doctor's vague response. Sarah understands his meaning exactly. Everything is on a need to know basis and there's a lot he doesn't actually need to know. She doesn't think he even knows her name.

"Are you in pain?" he asks, standing over the IV pumps. Sarah nods and the doctor presses a few buttons. Within seconds Sarah feels the pain ebb away, taking with it her grip on consciousness.

"Wait," she pleads and weakly raises a hand to stop him. The doctor's hand hovers over the button. "Was there a man with me?"

"I'm sorry," he says. "You arrived alone. The details were limited."

Sarah nods. "I need to talk to someone."

"I'll see to it." The doctor presses on the morphine pump again before she can clarify that she needed to speak to someone _now._

"It's urgent," she slurs. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the doctor nod and then her world fades to black.

_

Sarah wakes but she doesn't see the doctor again. Her status is improving which in itself is a reward though it feels more like a punishment to take her from the machines she's become so dependent on.

A nice nurse brings her oatmeal and applesauce and all other sorts of mush and she manages to stomach a few bites. She gets to experience the indignity of using a bedpan and of being sponge-bathed.

Tomorrow, the nurse assures, she'll help her out of bed. The day after, maybe, she'll be weaned off her pain medication. Maybe.

It's difficult to argue, she's so tired.

She asks again to speak to someone who knows who she is. They promise it will be arranged and she has no choice but to hang all her hopes on them. The frustration of being helpless and not knowing what the hell's going on eats at her but what choice does she have?

_

When she wakes from her drug-induced sleep again she finds the Director sitting in a chair beside her bed. The fact the man himself has come is enough to alert her that things were seriously amiss.

"Sir?" she asks, moving slowly to sit up in bed. She hisses quietly under her breath as she tries to settle in a way that's comfortable but it's about as fruitful as trying to find a soft spot on a cactus.

The man smiles warmly at her and it causes her to bristle. The painted expression is at complete odds with his words. "Well...you really cocked this one up, didn't you?"

Sarah's heart begins to race and nothing in the IV lines can counteract the panic that suddenly sets in. "Where's Chuck?"

"He's safe." Something in the way he says it makes Sarah uneasy. He's given a perfectly legitimate answer but there's something he's not telling her.

"What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know. Three dead bodies in the basement of the Los Angeles convention center. Dozens of witnesses of a gunshot victim in the Mezzanine. Local LEOs are conducting an investigation. They've interviewed witnesses…the bodies of the men you killed are in the LA County Morgue for cripes sake. How the hell did you expect us to cover up such a mess?"

Sarah doesn't have an answer for that question so she asks one of her own. "Is Chuck okay?"

"Mr. Bartowski is no longer your concern. I want to know what the hell happened!"

Sarah swallows with great difficulty. The pang in her chest begins to magnify but she ignores it and presses on. She replays the events that lead up to her being shot. The Director is mostly silent as she narrates but when she gets to the part with the laptop, he stops her.

"We found the destroyed laptop, did you shoot it?"

Sarah shakes her head. She finishes her story, the rest is all a blur for her anyway, and then they fall into silence.

"We have acquired the USB key, but we've been unable to get anything useful out of it." The Director stares out the window, seemingly deep in thought. "The program has only been a nuisance to this point. Attempts to decompile the code caused it to attack our servers…we're still trying to clean things up. It has some very annoying safeguards."

Sarah nods but offers little information otherwise. She's certainly not about to help the Director at this point—at least not until she finds out what's happened to Chuck.

"Well, Agent, rest up, we're going to need your help taking out this new spy ring," he announces as he begins to head for the door. "We've had very little success picking up the threads. You have an annoying habit of not leaving anyone alive to talk to." The Director frowns. "We'll need to work on that."

"That's it?" Sarah blurts, causing the man to stop.

The Director turns to face Sarah again. "Did you remember something?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No. What happened? What happened to Chuck? Where am I?"

The man answers her in rapid-fire format. "You're in a hospital. You told me what happened. Mr. Bartowski is not your concern." He shrugs at her like she's somehow forgotten the conversation they'd just had.

"He's my husband!" Sarah exclaims despite feeling short of breath. "Of course he's my concern!"

The Director shakes his head. "Thankfully the law has corrected what you and Mr. Bartowski seemed unable to do."

Sarah's hands go to her chest. She can barely catch her next breath but she has to hang on a little longer, if only to hear him complete his thought.

"What?"

"Agent Walker, Mrs. Charles Bartowski is dead; therefore, your legal connection to Mr. Bartowski in null and void. You'll be given a new identity when you're ambulatory. Meanwhile the hospital staff has been briefed not to talk to you about your name."

"You..." Sarah doesn't care if she tears out all the stitches in her side. She doesn't care if her lungs burst from a lack of oxygen. "You told him I died?" she screams.

"Well of course!" The Director swings his arms out wide in a big sweeping gesture. "Technically you did die. You were dead for about eight minutes."

"You can't do this!"

The man shakes his head. "Why does everyone keep saying that to me? Take care, Agent, I'll be in touch." Without further delay, the man walks out of her hospital room.

"Wait!" she cries. She tries to get up, but the sudden pain in her chest makes her arms buckle. She never had a chance. Sarah collapses back and feels all the energy sapped out of her.

"I really hate that man," she mutters.


	45. Tuesday C I

_A/N: _I'm back. Again. I promise this time around that a) I will finish 2C in a timely manner and that b) it will be under 50 chapters as previously mentioned. You have **Altonish** to thank for pulling me out of the slump (funny how we reversed roles, huh?) and in largely planning the execution of the following chapters. And thank you, **mxpw**, for giving me the green light on this one.

**Chapter 45: **

The Director enters his darkened office and walks to his desk without bothering to flick on the fluorescent ceiling lights. He sets the large thermos of coffee down on the polished mahogany surface and sinks down into the plush leather seat.

He closes his eyes and rubs his temples methodically.

He doesn't need the expansive view from his corner office today. He doesn't need the artifacts he's collected from his travels or the honoraries neatly pegged on the wall. He doesn't need anything—save for a remote, some way to fast-forward his way out of this mess.

It was going to be another long day in a series of long days. He'd lost two agents in Tripoli the day before, had some sort of terrorist ring operating in Los Angeles that had yet to be addressed, and his wife wasn't speaking to him after he'd chosen to fly to Atlanta instead of attending their son's little league game on Saturday.

But the worst of the worst was Bartowski.

The Director isn't sure what his problem is, but he's had about enough of the man. Their first conversation had been little more than a shouting match over the phone, after he'd called Agent Walker for a report she'd defaulted on. That was a week and a half ago and ever since, Bartowski's left nothing but a bad taste in his mouth.

He isn't entirely convinced Charles Bartowski is _not_ behind the terrorist cell in Los Angeles. In any case he isn't the patriotic man the Director has been led to believe. His file had indicated that he was not only helpful but _polite_.

_Ha!_

There's no way the person he's been dealing with for the last week could be considered polite. Even his damn computer program was rude!

His stable of egg-heads hasn't been able to figure out how…but every time the Director entered a room where SIMIAN was being examined every screen in the lab stopped and flashed ASSHOLE! in bright red letters. It was really starting to get on his nerves; the pencil-pushers couldn't even figure out how the program sensed his physical presence much less manipulate it to do anything useful.

He's relatively confident that if Bartowski doesn't start cooperating by the end of the week he'll just snap, put a slug in him and have to dump his body in a hole somewhere. After all, burying bodies is what the CIA does best.

It would be rather therapeutic, actually.

Sighing the Director resigns himself to the beginning of another day and reaches for his thermos. He's just about to take a sip when the buzzer on his phone goes off, causing him to flinch and stain his hundred-fifty dollar tie.

"Damn it!" he curses, shaking scalding hot coffee off his hand. "What is it?"

His secretary comes through the intercom in a meek voice. "There's a reporter on the phone from the Washington Post for you."

"I'm not taking any calls this morning," the Director dismisses as he examines his ruined tie.

"I know, Sir, but he says it's really important."

The Director rolls his eyes. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that saying…

"I don't care if it's important. Everybody who calls me thinks their problems are important."

"He says you'll be sorry if you don't take the call…"

The threat gives him pause. The last time he heard that threat it had been prophetic. Then again anything that involved Charles Bartowski tended to lead to catastrophe.

The Director sighs. "Tell him I have no comment."

"He says it's regarding Operation Devonshire."

He knows his office is secure but suddenly the Director feels as if he's being watched. Spine tingling, palms moistening, the man swallows slowly and stares at the blinking green light on his phone.

"He said what?"

"Operation Devonshire, Sir," the secretary repeats.

"Um…" The Director's chest tightens considerably at the prospect of such sensitive information getting into the hands of a reporter. "Um…" He sighs. There's no point in stalling. "I guess I'll take it."

He punches up the line on his phone. "This is the Director."

"Hello, Director, this is Dan Davis with the Washington Post." The man's voice on the other line is surprisingly cheerful, which makes the Director all the more nervous. "I'm writing a story on Operation Devonshire and I was wondering if you'd like to make an official comment before we go to post."

"I'm afraid there is currently no such operation, at least within the CIA," the Director says. It was technically true—Operation Devonshire had been shut down in 2011.

"Yes," the reporter says. "This operation would have been conducted from 2009 to 2011."

"Well I'm afraid it's not possible for me to know the code name for every operation that took place before I was appointed."

Still, it was no excuse.

"Of course not. Operation Devonshire was a special operation designed to pit the governments of Central America against one another to increase influence over the region. Despite the fact that the country of Costa Gravas was under heavy US sanctions at the time, I've received intelligence that they were provided weapons in exchange for currying influence with Miguel Hernandez and eventually assisting the reinstatement of his puppet regime."

The Director clenches the edge of the table, tempering his emotions. "That's a pretty serious accusation," he offers in a solid voice.

"You have nothing official you'd like to add?" the reporter asks.

"As I've said, I'm afraid I can't comment on CIA operations that happened before my time, of which I have no knowledge. I will look into it for you if you'll give me a few days."

The Director tugs on his collar and tie, trying to loosen the proverbial noose, as he waits for an answer.

"I'd be happy to follow up with you Director, but I think we have enough corroboration to run the story without comment from the CIA." Again, it was the eerily cheerful voice that got to him. Clearly the reporter had a very good source.

"That would be a very bad idea."

"In what way?" the reporter asks.

"Making false accusations against the US Government carries very serious consequences—"

"As I've said, we obtained sufficient corroboration to feel comfortable running the story as is. Do you have any official comment before the story is printed?"

The Director growls like a feral animal backed into a corner. "No, the CIA has no comment."

"Thank you for your time, Director, I'll follow up with you in a few days."

The line clicks dead and the Director slams his phone back into the cradle. How the hell was this happening? Operation Devonshire was buried. It was ancient history. Nobody cared about Costa Gravas anymore—

The Director grows still. Bartowski had warned that something like this would happen if he didn't get his way. Suddenly the idea of pulling a gun on the annoying computer savant was sounding better and better by the minute.

"Sir?" His administrative assistant's voice rings through the intercom again. "I have an urgent call from software…"

"What now?" the Director asks, massaging his temples.

"He didn't specify he just said he needed to speak with you immediately. Also I have Diane Beckman on line two."

_The day just gets better and better. _

"Can it wait?" the Director asks.

"Would you like me to ask her, Sir?"

On a good day, the thought of asking the formidable but diminutive woman to wait would have sounded like a bad joke but today was not one of those days.

"No." The Director shakes his head even though there's no one to see the gesture. "I'll pick it up. Tell Martin that it's going to be a while; Software will just have to wait."

"Yes, Sir." The intercom clicks off and the Director takes a deep breath before picking up the receiver again.

"Diane! How lovely to hear from you again!"

There's only silence on the other end of the phone. Shivers shoot down the man's spine and he waits with trepidation.

"Hello?" the Director ventures.

"Yes, Director, I'm here."

"Great!" the Director tries to sound happy even though the phone conversation has as much appeal as having all his fingernails forcibly removed with pliers. "What can I do for the President's National Security Advisor today?"

"It's come to my attention that you currently have Charles Bartowski in custody."

"I see," the Director says, stripping away the tie altogether. "And how did you come into this piece of information?"

Not about to have her original question be deflected, Beckman presses on. "It's true then? What exactly has Mr. Bartowski been detained for?"

The Director holds back a grunt. "Mr. Bartowski has been linked to the terrorist cell that blew up the warehouse in Los Angeles."

Beckman scoffs. "Mr. Bartowski is _not_ a terrorist."

"Perhaps, but until Mr. Bartowski's role in the matter can be determined…"

"Mr. Bartowski is not working with a terrorist organization," Beckman repeats, her voice as hard as steel.

"That's not entirely clear," the Director says.

"If you are investigating Mr. Bartowski as a terrorist then you are wasting the government's time and resources. Frankly, it's not surprising you haven't made any headway in that investigation if you're pursuing leads like Mr. Bartowski. I have personal knowledge of this man and I'm telling you he's not capable of what you are accusing him of."

The Director opens his mouth to respond but there's nothing left to say. Beckman's asserted herself three times and that was already three times too many.

"I have to admit, I'm very concerned about what's going on down there. You allowed a terrorist organization to set up shop in Los Angeles without evening knowing who they were, you sent in a single agent to deal with the situation and your only lead to this point is a fallacy."

The woman's words are acerbic and to the point. The Director gulps audibly as he tugs on his collar again.

"Perhaps you can help me," he says slowly. "Mr. Bartowski obviously has a history with the CIA and yet his file is sorely lacking. It appears he was involved in some sort of cover-up. There are more details about him in Agent Walker's file than in his own. It's very disturbing."

The room becomes so quiet the Director swears he can hear his potted fern photosynthesize.

"H-hello?" he ventures.

"I'm afraid Mr. Bartowski's file has been closed. There's not much I can tell you," Beckman replies.

"You're vouching for him, Diane. Help me out here."

Silence again. Dust motes begin to settle on the fine pores of his skin, the hairs on his chin sprout out micrometer by micrometer. He feels like he's aged years in the span of a few short minutes and only when the woman speaks again does the man feel like he's gained back a little bit of his mortality.

"Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski were involved in a long term covert operation that eventually disrupted and destroyed both Fulcrum and the Ring. They were instrumental in these actions and both proved their loyalty beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"They had a tremendous record working together. As Mr. Bartowski's mission began to wind down it became clear he would probably need protection for a considerable period. As you've probably already found, he does not cope well with confinement and isn't particularly good at adjusting to change."

"So you ordered Agent Walker to marry the asset?" That much the Director could surmise from her profile. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"I made what I felt was the best decision I could," Beckman says, without even an iota of a second for hesitation. Clearly the last five years has done nothing but solidify her stance. "Understand this," Beckman warns. "Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski were very much in love. Her deep psychological issues prevented her from ever admitting it, but I was assured by the field psychologist that it was true. I was also advised that she would be unable to continue to operate functionally without an emotional anchor. I did what I thought was best for them and forced their hand."

"I beg to differ," the Director says. "Mr. Bartowski's been the cause of Agent Walker's fall from grace. She _was_ your best agent but so far as I can tell, she's had more free passes than any agent in the CIA's history since she returned to full-time field duty five years ago."

Beckman sighs, the first hint of something more human beneath the hard exterior. "It worked better than you would have guessed. For awhile they proved quite happy together. Agent Walker continued as an excellent field operative. Mr. Bartowski eventually left the CIA and I assumed over time Agent Walker would have as well."

"But she didn't." The Director knows the agent's record well. "The longest leave of absence she's ever had was two months of sick leave five years ago. Other than that I can't think of a time when we haven't had to have a physician or psychologist mandate a break to get her to rest."

Beckman sighs again and when she speaks once more her steely voice tempers into something much softer and resigned. "About five years ago Agent Walker became pregnant. While the pregnancy itself was well received, there was an incident and she was forced to act on intelligence she received while four months pregnant. She had little time to act and she made a difficult choice. A choice that cost them their child. Objectively, I can say she made the right decision. She saved countless lives that day…but at what cost?

"You have children, Director; I hope you can appreciate what that kind of decision can do to a person."

The Director listens in stunned silence. When he first received Agent Walker's file it had been sparse on the details other than the tally of overwhelming successful missions. Since then, he's never really reconciled how the woman under his command failed to match the woman on paper.

"Since that time Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski have been estranged, but at no time has either's loyalty to this country been in question. They've given everything they have to protect the citizens of this nation. There is literally nothing left we can ask of them."

"I take it, Agent Walker called you?"

"Indeed."

"Diane, if I understand this correctly, Agent Walker was hardly equipped to be a field agent five years ago much less now. Why did they keep sending her back into the field?"

"It's all she has," Beckman says. "Don't you understand? We did this. We have a responsibility. She's given everything she has for this country and at a certain point you become responsible for them."

"What do you recommend, Diane?"

"When I spoke to her this morning she expressed her desire to return to Mr. Bartowski. I recommend you send her home."

"I'm not sure I can do that. She's the only agent I have that's had any success in digging up anything on this terrorist group—"

The door to the Director's office suddenly flies open and the head of Software Development comes barging in. "Director," the man gasps, obviously out of shape from running all the way over from building four. "We have to get SIMIAN off our network."

The Director hears his secretary's voice in the not too distant background. "You can't go in there!"

"Diane? I'll…um… I'll have to get back to you."

"Of course, Director, the President and I look forward to your report on the terrorist situation on Friday. _Don't disappoint us_."

The Director swallows nervously. "See you then."

The Director put the phone down and rubs his temples briefly trying to push back the fast approaching migraine. "What is it, Martin?"

"SIMIAN escaped again," the man announces between wheezes.

"It's a freaking program; stop talking about it as if it's alive!" The Director sighs. "You told me that wasn't possible."

"It isn't! It reprogrammed the firewall from the outside! That's not supposed to _be _possible!"

The Director blinks slowly. Seeing as how the software developer was seconds from a myocardial infarction he didn't see the point in adding to the man's stress. Two (three if you counted Walker) was enough in a week.

"I see and what is it doing?"

"It's looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Charles Bartowski, that software developer that went missing last week."

The Director grunts. "Is that all?"

The man fidgets on the spot. "Um…"

The Director narrows his eyes. "Well?" he asks. "I don't have all day."

"Well… file access logs show it's also digging up information on you." The diminutive nerd trembles slightly as he delivers the extra piece of information.

_Great. Just great._ The Director closes his eyes; nothing was going to keep his migraine at bay now.

"All right, shut it down. Do whatever it takes to turn it off. Just don't damage it."

"We'll have to shut down the CIA core network…"

"Just get it done and get us online as soon as humanly possible," the Director snaps, waving the man impatiently out of the room. "We'll have to figure out a different way to deal with SIMIAN."

Not only did he have a hostile computer program running around on his network, he was going to have to talk to Bartowski again… and he needed to deal with Walker…and there's still the report he has to get ready for Beckman and the President by Friday and he'd promised his wife he'd be at their son's little league game this afternoon.

This was all happening too fast.

He wasn't sure how many more nights on the couch he could stomach.

"I never should have come into work today," he groans.


	46. Wednesday C I

_A/N: Getting there, slowly but surely. Credit goes to my pal **altonish; **sometimes i lose my way and need a little guidance. okay, sometimes more than just a little. _

**Chapter 46: **

Chuck's played the waiting game before; he's become somewhat of an adept actually. He's done the bedside vigils, the hospital waiting rooms and the dreaded phone call in the middle of the night. He can't even remember how many sleepless nights he's sat in his darkened living room just waiting for her to walk through the door or the last time days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months and the months…

_Don't worry. I'll be fine._ Isn't that what she always told him?

Chuck bites down on his tongue, a futile attempt at fortifying his splintering resolve. The thing is he doesn't really know what he's waiting for anymore. He's holding onto a tether but there's no one on the other end.

The worst thing about all this is that there is no one to blame. Sure he's heaped plenty on the Director, but at the end of the day they both know the truth. It will always be Chuck's fault; he designed the program, he tried to make her into someone she wasn't and he made the call to D.C..

Chuck sits at the edge of his cot perched on the precipice between the darkness at the other end and his own bleak existence. What's really here to stop him from dropping over the edge into nothingness?

"I'm so sorry," he utters, rubbing his temples. He rests his head against the edge of the thin mattress, the guilt piling on him until he can no longer keep it all to himself.

Sarah used to say it was one of his more annoying bad habits—saying 'sorry' for things he shouldn't feel sorry for.

But he is; he's so very very sorry, won't she come back and tell him it's alright?

_It's not your fault. _

Chuck blinks. Clearly he's descending into madness and he wonders if anyone will care if he completely loses his grip. Not likely—though on the bright side, perhaps the padded cells in the psych ward will have a better view.

"I'm sorry, Sarah. I didn't want you to leave so I prayed." Chuck is so filled with shame he has to hide his face in his hands. He can't even bear to face himself.

"I kept praying, every time we were together, that you would stay one more minute. One more hour. One more day."

And now he sees the error in his ways. She's not the one to blame. He should have known better than to pin all his hopes for the future on a woman who lived life for the moment.

He should have known that to truly love someone would mean to set them free.

He was selfish to want her all to himself and now it seems the Fates have answered his prayers.

If he can't have her, no one can.

"I never should have made that damned thing. I never should have made the call. I should have given them what they wanted."

_No. _

He hears the denial in Sarah's voice because he knows, deep down, that she would never blame him. She's never blamed him for anything. And perhaps that makes the both of them selfish; always scrambling to take the blame, fighting over who's more at fault.

"_Sarah."_

He doesn't know if he's begging her ghost for absolution or just the hope that she might still be able to hear him. He's never been a big believer in the afterlife, but he's never hoped so much for something, anything, that stretches beyond the mortal coil.

Chuck wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand and shifts, staring at the white floor instead of the white walls.

It's only then that he realizes there's someone watching him. He turns his head to the door, but the man doesn't look away.

"What do you want?" Chuck asks, staring back down at the floor.

"You're really Agent Walker's husband?" the agent asks, almost as if he were trying to make sure he had the correct Charles Bartowski under watch.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The agent shrugs. "I heard what happened. I just wanted to see for myself."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chuck asks, standing to his feet. Is he a sideshow now? An exhibit in the CIA zoo?

_Well fine._ Let him look. Let him see the carnage; let him see what it looks like for a man to lose everything.

"Let me give you some advice. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can have your old life back," the agent says. Chuck marvels at the stranger's complete inability to read the situation. Doesn't he realize that there are some things that simply can't be fixed?

Chuck shakes his head. "Did the Director pay you to say that?"

"No." The agent shrugs. "Look, I knew Agent Walker and I feel bad for you. I've got a friend who works in here, says you're really torn up about what happened." The notion that a trained agent and stranger no less would feel something bordering on an emotion towards him was so absurd it had to be true.

"Well don't," Chuck clips. He's been pitied enough for this lifetime.

"Look, I'm trying to help you here. Agent Walker was sort of a friend. But you have to understand you were just an assignment. Your marriage wasn't real. I know it seemed like it, but that's because that's what we do. She wouldn't want you to break like this."

"What the hell do you know?" Chuck snaps and fixes him with the coldest glare he knew how to muster. He has enough doubts himself; he doesn't need a complete stranger to add to them.

"I was her partner for a while," the agent responds. "I've known her for years. I know she never once mentioned you. Don't take it so hard; she was really good at her job. You shouldn't let it destroy you. She wouldn't want that."

Chuck grits his teeth and stares down at the ground. No doubt the agent's been privy to some of the details. Every little secret for the world to see. Every little blunder for the world to judge. "Why aren't you partners anymore?"

"Well…she sort of shot me." The agent shrugs. "I mean I didn't take it personally or anything. It's a rough business."

Chuck doesn't respond. He has no way of fathoming how such violence could be taken so lightly.

"I'm only telling you this because you seem like a decent guy. Clear your head, take the Director's offer. He's not a patient man and if you cared this much about Sarah, you deserve a second chance at a normal life."

Chuck grits his teeth. "Get away from me."

The man, who looks just a little too much like Bryce Larkin for his liking, only shrugs and walks away.

_

Chuck is numb.

It's not normal and he knows that. A man can only live in despair for so long before it consumes the spirit and leaves a shell. He was only half a person then and now he's not even sure if he's that.

Can you be a tenth of a person and still be called a person?

He'd burned his hand on the oatmeal bowl this morning and he couldn't even muster the urgency to care. He has no more use for pain. Pain means you can still feel and he just can't anymore.

He feels nothing. It's like someone has carved out the center of his chest and left a gaping wound that can never heal. His heart continues to beat, his lungs continue to fill with air, but he's fading, little by little.

It doesn't worry him though.

He'll hold out for a little while longer. He has to visit Sarah's grave before he leaves, just to make sure she's okay.

He hopes its somewhere fitting—maybe on the hill next to Sophie's under that great big tree. Sarah had helped pick out the spot all those years ago; he knows she'd like that.

The door to Chuck's cell creaks open and he doesn't get up from the cot to see who it is. He turns his head slightly and blinks. It's exactly who he's expected. There is only person who ever visits inside his cell.

"Hello, Charles," the Director greets. "Have you thought about what I said?"

"You know my conditions," Chuck says.

"I take it that's a no?"

Chuck is tired, so very tired; memories and dreams are where the demons dwell and he's been evading them for days. What surprises him is how equally tired the Director looks. Chuck doesn't understand why the man keeps coming. Neither of them seem capable of breaking the other's resolve and Chuck's tired of trading insults.

There's no way to win, but the Director should have known that. He was playing with someone who no longer had anything left to lose. There is nothing more frightening, more painful, more dreadful left to face.

And it seems the Director has finally come to the very conclusion, which is why he sighs heavily before he delivers his words. "People die, Chuck. Every day good people who are doing their best to keep the world from falling into chaos are killed because we don't have sufficient information to prevent it. People like Sarah, who love their country and just want to do the right thing."

The Director looks at him. No longer the threatening type, Chuck's not sure what sort of angle he's trying to play. Perhaps that's it. It's taken days but they've finally arrived at the end.

_Here it is. Here is the truth. _

"They die preventable deaths, because we're missing critical pieces of the puzzle. You have the power to prevent those deaths. Maybe not all of them, but you could save agents like Sarah from paying the ultimate price for their country."

For the first time, Chuck is listening.

"Maybe you don't care anymore. I know it's hard for me, sitting behind my desk, to realize exactly what effect my decisions have on people. Every day I have to do what I think is best for this country regardless of what effect it might have on the people who work for me. I make difficult decisions and perhaps you hate me for that. I can't blame you.

"But I wish you'd reconsider because there are a hundred more agents like Sarah out there and they could use SIMIAN's help."

Chuck bites down on his tongue, sparring with his mutinous conscience. What the Director says makes sense but it won't mend the aching hole in his chest. He didn't want to help the man who'd orchestrated the events leading up to Sarah's death…but…but…Chuck couldn't just let other people die for it.

Other people's husbands and wives.

And Sarah wouldn't want that either. She always believed he'd do the right thing.

"If I do this." Chuck swallows back all the rebellious thoughts struggling to make themselves known. "_If _I do this I'm not going to be locked in some cage. I do this my way; we play by my rules."

"Fine."

Chuck stares him straight in the eye. He doesn't think the man fully understands the terms.

"Can you live with that?—because I'm not kidding. This only happens one way."

To the Director's credit he doesn't smile or even twitch. He just sticks out his hand and says, "I think we can work with that."

* * *

.

_**mxpw **did mention to me that things didn't really come together until chpt 47 so maybe i'll post that chapter later this week. you'll have to let me know though, maybe it's just him (=  
_


	47. Thursday C I

_A/N: Chapter released a little earlier than usual; it's been a rough day and i can't study. **  
**_

_I had a feeling there would be some disgruntlement regarding Chuck's decision to take the deal in 46; he held on for five years and this time he caved after less than a week; what gives? Well five years ago Chuck had other things to take his mind off Sarah and this time around he's basically enclosed in a box where the only thing he can do is mull over what's happened. Five years ago she left him and this around she's 'dead'. Five years ago he felt partially responsible but this time he's guilty of a heck of a lot more. In a nutshell, he had five years to get used to her absence but the last week has been a brutal reminder of what he's going to have to live without. _

_Ah, and I have also updated my LJ with the alternate version of chpt 47. You have to read all the other alternate chapters to fully understand but i think it's worth a read. I confess i may be biased, but it made **mxpw **go bonkers! _

_As always, my thanks goes to **altonish **who is not only an amazing writer in his own right and an ever patient beta, but also a great friend. =)_

**Chapter 47: **

_Sarah feels like shit, as she ought to, but the feeling doesn't even compare to how she feels when she sees that she has a visitor. She'd run if she could, she's good at that, but the four walls are closing in on all sides and they're closing in fast. _

_ Reluctantly she sits up in the hospital bed and tries to smooth out her appearance. Her hair is limp with split ends like a frayed cord; her skin feels dry and coarse and her nails are a mess of raw cuticles and nervously bitten edges; even without a mirror she knows, she's a mess. _

_ How the mighty have fallen. _

_ The door unlocks and the visitor steps inside. _

_Sarah keeps her head down. She stares at her hands in her lap, not daring to make a sound. Maybe if she doesn't move, doesn't breathe, doesn't think, she'll just disappear._

_The door quickly locks and the visitor walks towards her. Her heels click against the linoleum and it's so quiet that each step reverberates until it feels like Sarah's being struck in the chest. _

Rap—rap—rap.

_Sarah puts a hand against her chest, trying to steady the erratic heartbeat. Suddenly it becomes difficult to breathe. _

"_Hello, Sarah," the woman says. Her tone is gentle but after all these years Sarah's been hardwired to associate that voice with attention, fear, anxiety. _

"_Sarah." The woman places a hand on her shoulder, and slowly, slowly, eases Sarah's rigid posture enough so that she lies back against the pillows. _

"_Hello, General—"_

"_Diane," the woman corrects. Sarah swallows the rest of her words back with great difficulty. She's never called the woman by such a familiar term before, it feels downright wrong. _

_Beckman takes a seat and eyes Sarah critically. Behind those piercing green eyes looms an emotion she's not used to seeing. Alas even her boss thinks she's pathetic. _

"_How are you?" the woman asks. She reaches out, wanting to take Sarah's hand, but it's too much. In this business, emotions are something to be bottled and stored away. Instead the woman lets it rest against the bedrail inches from Sarah's. _

_It's the thought that counts and right now Sarah's not sure she can take any more kindness. It takes every effort just to speak steadily. _

"_I'm fine," she says. She speaks in a whisper, as if you could hide your lies if you were more discrete. "And I'm sorry, I really am. It won't happen again, D-Diane." _

_The older woman's lips are pressed in a grim line. She doesn't say anything and she doesn't have to. Sarah can feel the crushing disappointment like an elephant on her chest. _

"_It won't ever happen again," Sarah promises, more for her own sake than her superior's. _

_She almost slips and says more but Beckman doesn't need excuses, she needs results. _

But it took away the pain.

It took away all her pain.

_Sarah bites down on her tongue and looks away. Her eyes are starting to sting with tears and this is her last chance to prove that she still has it together. That she's still worth something. _

"_Please give me another chance," she says. She hates to beg, it's so degrading but before this, she didn't think she could sink any lower. _

"_Is that really what you want?" _

_It's such a silly thing to ask that Sarah turns back abruptly to face the diminutive woman, to make sure she's heard correctly. _

"_It's all I have left," Sarah says and breaks into a silent sob. She looks down and her long hair acts as a curtain, thankfully, but nothing can hide her from the shame. "Please, please give me another chance." _

_Sarah feels a hand cover hers and squeeze. It's been so long since she's had any kind of warmth at all that she flinches at first. _

"_Sarah," the woman says gently. "Wouldn't…wouldn't you rather go home?" _

Home?

_Sarah looks at her in confusion, like she doesn't understand what the word means. _

"_The doctors want to keep me under observation for an extra day or two but I suspect I can be ready by the end of the week at the latest," Sarah says, her hopes rising. "I'm sure if you give the word they'd release me." _

_Beckman's eyes drop and she sighs. "No, Sarah, I mean your home…in Los Angeles." _

_Just the mention of the city causes Sarah to seize up. The erratic tachycardia, the hypoxia, the crushing guilt…Sarah's mouth suddenly goes dry. _

No.

_Beckman squeezes Sarah's hand. "I think it would be in your best interests if you did," she says. "I think it would help. Don't you want to go home?" _

_Sarah shakes her head vehemently._

"_Why would I want to do that?" she croaks, tears in her voice. _

_She couldn't, even if she wanted to. She did something, something so terrible, that she can never ever go back there again. _

_Beckman looks confused. "Wouldn't you like to see Chuck?" _

_Sarah wants to shake her head but her body won't allow such treachery. The retaliatory response causes her to shake all over. _

_Beckman watches her in silence, and that look…_

Please don't look at me like that.

_Sarah covers her mouth before she loses control. She's granted a few sobs, but there's not nearly enough alcohol to tide over a mental breakdown at this point. _

"_I-I c-can't…" Sarah utters, gasping for breath inbetween sobs. "I-I-I c-can't." _

_Not now. Not like this. _

_She looks down at herself, confined to the hospital bed, and it confirms everything she's said. _

_ Doesn't Beckman realize it? He hates her; he probably thinks she's already dead. _

_He'll take one look at her…_that_ look…the same look in the woman's eyes right now…and she'll be finished. She's not strong enough to face his rejection; it will destroy what little there is left of her. _

_ "You can," Beckman says, laying a gentle hand on her. "All you have to do is say the words and I'll make it happen." _

_ Sarah shakes her head. "This is all I have," she whispers. Can't she see? "This is all I have left. Please give me another chance." _

_ Beckman looks so disappointed in her but Sarah's already crippled by her own emotions, she doesn't need a generous donation of someone else's. _

_ Beckman takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, slowly drawing her own conclusion._

"_If that's what you really want," she says, giving her the opening to deny it. _

Last chance…

_ Sarah nods and the shaking eases. "It is," she whispers. _

_ Beckman waits, in case she changes her mind at the last second, but Sarah doesn't. She stares straight ahead and wills the trembling to stop, the sobs to quiet, the tears to recede. She doesn't look back at her superior until she has regained control again. _

_ And when she does, she holds a wavering smile before the older woman. _

_ "Thank you." _

_ Beckman doesn't reciprocate the gesture. Her troubled expression hasn't eased in the last few minutes and in fact, seems to be deepening. "Thirty days, Sarah. If the doctor says you're clean and ready to be in the field in thirty days you can come back."_

_ Sarah looks at her in shock unable to speak. She's never spent that much time in a hospital. _

"_I-I-" Sarah starts to protest. "But I'm ready—" _

_ Beckman looks at her sternly. "You need counseling. Take thirty days, your job will still be there when you get back." Beckman isn't asking, Sarah knows an order when she hears one. The woman pats her gently on the shoulder. "If you change your mind about Los Angeles, you just let me know." _

_ Sarah nods, thanks her for her generosity (and really, she's been too generous with her) and they say their goodbyes. It's only after Beckman's walked out the door and the lock's turned in that Sarah realizes the woman's left behind her reading material. _

_ Sarah takes the magazine off the stand and the second she sees the cover, she realizes not for the first time, just how calculating the older woman can be. _

Breathe in—breathe out—

_Sarah closes her eyes but the image still haunts her. She has a choice. She can follow through or she can fall to temptation. _

Don't you want to see Chuck?

_ Tears pool, blurring her vision, as she traces his outline with her fingers, going over and over the glossy front cover. He looks older than she remembers, has it really been so long? _

_ She flips to the main article and the sight makes her heart ache. _

_She can't lie to herself any longer. She misses him; she misses everything about him from his thick curls to his bubbly toes. She misses his easy laughter, his inquisitive tone, even that dreadful chicken recipe that he's so proud of. _

_But she made a choice, many choices in fact, and though she didn't realize it then, every choice was a step away from him. She's taken so many steps; it's hard to see the path now. _

_He looks so serious on the cover, harder somehow, but she's happy for him; all his hard work has come to fruition. No one deserves it more than him. She wonders who he's taking out to celebrate his newfound success with and then realizes she has no right to. _

_His career's flourishing, he's making a name for himself and he's living the life he's always dreamed of. _

He's moved on.

_ Sarah closes the magazine. _

Don't you want to see Chuck?

_ Not like this. No. _

_She clutches the magazine tight against her chest. This is enough. _

_Chuck will be okay. _

_And maybe…someday…so will she. _

_

When Sarah wakes, she's not entirely sure she has. Subtly she pinches her arm and winces.

_Oh damn._

So the sight of her boss looming over her bedside was not an imaginary nightmare but a real one.

"Morning, Sarah." The Director throws a pile of papers onto the bed.

Sarah grits her teeth through the pain as she slowly sits herself up and gathers the documents into her lap. The paper on top is a file run down on a cover ID. A cover ID that has her face on it.

"_Blake_?" She says the name as if it were the vilest thing she's ever heard. "You think I look like a Sarah Blake?"

"Everyone needs a name. And for your information, Blake is the fifteenth most common last name—right after Walker." Director shrugs. "You're lucky this isn't your burn notice."

Sarah looks directly into the eyes of the Director of the CIA and holds his gaze. "You can't threaten me with that anymore. I don't care."

"You should," he advises.

"Why?"

The Director keeps his expression neutral. "Chuck has agreed to work for the CIA."

Sarah tries to follow suit but she can't. Even the idea of it crushes her heart and the pain radiates across the barely healed line of scars until it threatens to consume her.

"Bullshit," she croaks, breathing through gritted teeth.

"I assure you it's true. He was reluctant, but it's not as if he really had a choice."

Sarah clenches the sheets on the bed. She would have liked nothing more than to kick the Director in the head but unfortunately all she has the strength for are a few silent curses.

She couldn't believe that after everything Chuck was once again under the thumb of the CIA.

The Director smirks. "You should be happy."

"Why?" Sarah avoids his gaze because she knows she only has herself to blame for this. She can hate her boss all she wants, but she's not entirely innocent here. "Because you got what you wanted?"

"I didn't get exactly what I wanted," the Director corrects. "No, you should be happy because most people who attempt to do an end-around on me wind up dead. This time however, I've decided to give you what you want."

Sarah raises one brow at this. "You think Sarah Blake is what I want?"

"Well seeing as how Sarah Walker is currently housed in the LA County Coroner's office, I thought it might be nice to be alive again." The Director pauses for a moment.

"So what will it be, Agent? Will you work on the task force I've assembled to look into the terrorist attacks in LA?"

"I just want Chuck," she says.

What a concept; she wants her husband.

Sarah shakes her head. Life shouldn't be so complicated.

It's a response the Director has prepared for. "Very well, Agent Blake—"

Sarah's ears perk up. There's no way…no way…that the Director has just agreed—

"Your new assignment is the head of Mr. Collins—formerly Bartowski—'s security detail. You are personally responsible for making sure a very important government asset stays safe."

Sarah blinks. There has to be a catch. This is simply too good to be true.

"Sounds familiar…" she says, barely able to contain her excitement. "But you do realize I'm not going there to be his bodyguard, right?"

The Director looks slightly uncomfortable with the implications. "I remind you that Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski no longer exist. You have new cover IDs and if you want to…" The man trails off but Sarah catches his drift. "Well…I'll leave that up to your discretion. You'll have two agents assigned to the detail. As long as it doesn't interfere with the work—"

Sarah's heard enough. "When do I leave?"

The Director shrugs. "As soon as you're able."

Sarah nods. "I can leave now." She throws the sheets to the side and starts to scoot slowly towards the edge of the hospital bed. The pain is excruciating but the carrot dangled in front of her is just too tantalizing to pass up.

"You haven't gotten your medical clearance yet," the Director says. "You'll have to recover sufficiently to pass a physical."

Sarah huffs in frustration. "I'm fine." But even as she says the words she's fighting every instinct not to scream out loud.

The Director arches a brow. "If you move another inch you're going to tear your stitches and it will set you back another week or two. I'd sit tight if I were you, Agent."

Sarah collapses into her pillow, the crushing defeat weighing down on her until she's lying completely prone on the bed.

"Does Chuck know I'm alive?" she whimpers.

"No." The Director shakes his head. "To this point I felt it would only complicate things. Do you want me to tell him?"

Sarah shakes her head. "No…I'll tell him. It would be best if I explained things to him."

Chuck is going to be furious, and she doesn't want to give the Director any reason to change his mind.

The man seems to share the same sentiment because he's eager to take her up on the offer. "Very well."

"His sister will have to be told," she says, not without considerable discomfort. They've lied to Ellie for so long, she's not even sure if the woman could handle a fraction of the truth now.

"Ah, yes, I've worked that out with Mr. Collins."

Sarah nods.

"That will be all, Agent," the Director says as he walks towards the door.

Sarah raises her head and catches the man just before he disappears from the room.

"Thank you, Director."

The statement gives the man pause. "You're welcome," he says, and for once, it seems they've met at a shaky median. "But Agent?" He gives her a stern look. "Don't screw this up. This is the absolute last chance you're getting from me."

Sarah swallows a considerable lump in her throat. "Understood."


	48. One Month Later Part 1

_A/N: It took me awhile but i think **altonish** and i have hashed out an ending that will satisfy most readers and more/less importantly, me as a writer. it's a secret though, not even **mxpw** has gotten the advance, so tune in next week! In the meantime, please enjoy! _

**Chapter 48: **

Sarah looks over her reflection in the mirror for what feels like the hundredth time and the feeling is no different. She sighs in disappointment and gives a scrutinizing frown. She draws her hair up and tries for something fancier but it looks just as foreign as when she let it hang casually at her shoulders.

Nothing works.

She groans in frustration. It's fine if she's been up all night trying to find a look that works but at the very least her efforts should show. She's never wanted so badly to fit in, to look…well, _normal._

It makes no sense. What should come as second nature feels like the most difficult task anyone's ever asked of her. Would he still recognize her?

Would he still care?

Her ride to the airport arrives at exactly eight in the morning and not a minute sooner. Sarah wouldn't have expected anything less from her employers. They were, after all, hard-asses about practically everything so why wouldn't they be sticklers about punctuality?

The sleek ride pulls up against the curb and the passenger door pops open. Sarah steps inside without a word and they drive off.

Sarah recognizes the driver and the driver seems to recognize her too. Tangiers? Jakarta? Except rather than the standard head-nod she receives a strange look.

"What?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Nothing."

Except it's clearly something because he's staring ahead at the road with a giant smirk on his face.

"It's the dress, isn't it?" she asks, looking down at herself with a critical eye. She has no idea what's come over her this morning except that she was frantically searching through her closet for something suitable and this dress said 'wear me'.

But now she sees the error in listening to the erratic thoughts going through her head. Yellow isn't really her color and neither is white. It's going to accent all her scrapes and bruises. She looks awful.

"Stop. Pull over. I need to go back and change."

The driver shakes his head. "No can do. We're on a tight schedule. I have to get you to the airport by eight-thirty sharp. Why does it matter anyway?"

"It just does," Sarah insists, unwilling to divulge any more. He looks at her strangely but she refuses to say another word.

"Why? What kind of mission are you going on?" He tries but doesn't he know that Sarah's a master at keeping secrets? "Top secret, eh? Well, suit yourself, but were on a tight schedule. You'll just have to make do."

Sarah grabs his arm but rather than having the intended effect, she's the one wincing from the extended range of motion. She lets go and rubs her bad shoulder. It's been less than a month since she's been in the hospital; she can't honestly expect miracles now, can she?

_Can't she? _ _Was one miracle so much to ask?_

Hasn't everything in the last few weeks felt like a surreal dream? Didn't everything she never thought possible come to pass?

"Come on, it'll take like two minutes, max."

The man takes one look at her and scoffs. "Right," he says. "I've heard that one before; I'm married." He's right but it doesn't mean Sarah feels any less desire to punch him square in the face. Everything has to be perfect today; it just has to be.

"Oh my God."

The man's utterance draws Sarah out of her reverie. "What?"

For a second she has a foreshadowing of her own ill luck. A massive traffic jam on the freeway, the car breaking down for no reason—

He looks at her incredulously. "You're smiling."

Sarah quickly bites down on her lip. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Agent Walker!" Old habits die hard and Sarah forgets that she's neither a Walker nor a Bartowski now.

The driver laughs as he thumps his palm against the steering wheel. "You smiled!" He says it as if she's just committed a felony. "I saw it! You smiled! Oh man, wait until I tell the bull pen about this."

Sarah bites down even harder on her lip. "Watch out, Agent Kerrick, this might be the end of the world."

The man shakes his head. "Never thought I'd live to see this day. You in a bright yellow dress. Smiling. Talking. Sarah Walker," he admonishes. "You'd better watch out or you might turn into a real girl."

Sarah stares out the window, smiling with her back to him. "If you think you might want to have children some day, Kerrick, you'll shut up and drive."

He gives her a grin that would give the Cheshire Cat a run for his money, but the chatter mercifully stops.

_

They get to the airstrip with two minutes to spare and she's passed seamlessly from one agent to the other. The plane takes off without a hitch and the flight goes smoothly. Sarah even manages to sleep for an hour or two.

When she lands there's a man holding a sign with a single word: Blake

"Are you my pickup?" Sarah asks.

"Agent Blake?" he asks. He's relatively young, she'd estimate mid-twenties, and dressed in the most conspicuous black suit and sunglasses. She forgives him only because he's playing the part of chauffer.

Sarah shades her eyes with her hand. "That's me," she answers somewhat awkwardly. Giving up Sarah Walker/Bartowski has been harder than any ID in history. She's not sure why, but maybe having assumed the identity for longer than she's been anyone else might have something to do with it.

He hesitates, like he's still not entirely sure he has the right person. Sarah bites her lip, a nervous habit. She should have gone back and changed into something else. Yellow really isn't her color.

"Agent Blake, my name is Russ Gill. I'm one of the agents assigned to Mr. Collins' protection." He extends a hand and she takes it. "I'll be taking you to the house."

Gill leads her to the black town car complete with tinted windows and she nearly bursts out in laughter.

"Is this Mr. Collins' car?" she asks. It's so hard to reconcile this behemoth with his tiny electric car.

"Yes, standard government issue," the agent says as he takes the driver's seat.

Sarah shakes her head. She knows Chuck has to hate it even though it _is_ more practical.

They make their way to the freeway and it's not anywhere Sarah recognizes. Agent Gill, ever the well-trained agent, keeps his eyes on the road and doesn't say a word. It's only when he reaches for the radio knob that she notices his hands are trembling.

Even though she's not in the state of mind to start evaluating the agents the Director's sent to help protect Chuck, she remembers that she's technically their boss.

"Relax, Agent Gill. I don't bite."

She smiles and the young man smiles nervously back.

_Your reputation precedes you._

"So is it just you at the house?"

The man shakes his head. "No, I have a partner. Agent Gardner. We trade-off so Mr. Collins always has someone."

Sarah looks out the window. "I'm sure Mr. Collins loves the idea," she says, a touch rueful.

"Well we try to respect his wishes as much as possible. We live off the main house—" Seeing Sarah's look of disapproval the man quickly explains. "Don't worry; we can be at the main house in less than ninety seconds at a dead sprint."

"Mr. Collins insisted," the man adds meekly.

Sarah grunts. She understands, but a little part of her is still annoyed Chuck won't take all the necessary precautions. Not for the last time she wishes she could just take Chuck and run. She's more than capable of protecting him on her own. Sarah knows how to travel without leaving a trail…she could make them vanish without a trace.

Chuck would hate it though. Living undercover would mean no Ellie and Chuck's already sacrificed so much of that relationship. At least this way…someday…

Sarah shakes her head. She really shouldn't think so far ahead in the future when her own present isn't even secure.

Nervously she smoothes out the dress over her legs. It's a silly thing to be wearing, she hadn't even known before today if she would be going somewhere summer-dress appropriate. And it's not exactly the first impression she wants to make to the two junior agents. She's serious about Chuck's safety; if anything happens she'll make sure they suffer the consequences.

The problem is she doesn't want Chuck to get the wrong impression as to why she's here. She's not here to be an agent or a bodyguard; she's here first and foremost to be with him. If words failed her (as they always did) at least the dress would be a saving grace.

They drive in silence for what feels like hours, making Sarah wonder if the ride would ever end. How far was the nearest town? How far was their nearest neighbor?

The blazing afternoon sun feels like a magnifying glass and the car like the unfortunate little ant caught in its glare.

"How is Mr. Collins?" Sarah asks when the stifling silence becomes unbearable.

"_Um…_fine," the man quips. The tension in the agent's hand is so acute he nearly switches the air conditioning to blast hot air instead of cold. "He keeps to himself mostly. I don't really know."

"Is he angry?"

"_Um…_I…I don't really know."

His non-answer is better than any other response he could have given her. She doesn't blame Chuck, he has every right to be furious, although it makes all this that much harder for her.

Sarah nods and cracks the window open. The wind whistles as it blows through her hair. Sarah huffs and runs her hands through to keep the strands out of her face. She hates her hair; following the incident in LA her face was on every news screen and front-page. She's had to dye it for the new cover and her options were limited. She would have preferred to go red but if Carina ever found out, she would never have lived it down. Besides, hadn't Chuck always had a thing for brunettes?

_

Finally, after another hour or so, the car pulls into a nondescript dirt road. There are no road markings, no landmarks—nothing. It finally hits her. They are truly in the middle of nowhere.

The address isn't marked but Sarah recognizes the signs of a CIA facility when she sees one. The problem with countermeasures is that anyone you'd want to use them against also knew what they were looking for. There's a series of retractable barriers buried in the road and auto-gun turrets emulating weather vanes on the roof of the house. The Director is as serious about Chuck's safety as she is.

"Well, what do you think?" Agent Gill asks.

Sarah snaps out of her analysis. "Huh?"

Her instincts have led her astray and she realizes in searching for potential traps and security cameras she's missed the details of the actual house. She hastily tries to hide a telling blush as she looks over her new home.

It's built to resemble a cabin but Sarah knows it's anything but. It's too polished and far too large to be a real little house in the big woods.

"It's…nice," she says. It's too oversized to be considered quaint, even though it makes the effort. It's certainly not their little house in Los Angeles but that's in the past.

"This is it," the agent says as the car pulls to a stop at the front door.

Sarah unclips her seat belt and takes a deep breath. "This is it," she echoes.

Her fingers make a quick pass over her dress. __Damn it._ She should have worn something different. She should have worn that old shirt with the little blue buttons; she knows he likes that one. She runs her hand through her hair, wishing she had tied it up. The stifling heat and the wind have made a mess of it now. Maybe she should have put on some perfume.

"So..." The man looks at her expectantly. "Not that I'm in a hurry or anything but are you going to step out or are you going to sit—"

Sarah glares at him but she doesn't have it in her to get mad. Not today. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

She closes her eyes and tries to steady her trembling heartbeat. She hasn't been this nervous since the night of her first mission with the CIA, only this is far worse. If she'd blown her first mission the worst that could have happened is a swift dismissal or a shot through the heart. If this didn't go well she was doomed to spend the rest of her life alone without Chuck. Death was a much more merciful option.

Sarah opens the door and slowly steps out.

"Rachelle—er—Agent Gardner and I will be at the guesthouse. Let us know if you need anything."

Sarah nods and when the car pulls away, she's all alone at the front steps.

_This is it. _

Done with all the stalling, she takes a deep breath and walks up to the imposing mahogany door. She doesn't bother knocking; Chuck knows he's under protection and the nearest neighbor is miles away.

_This is really it. _

The house is impressive, decorated in a style that Sarah can only describe as rustic-chic. There are elements that remind her of the cabin by the lake from that one summer but the decorations are far too elegant for any old wooden shack. Then again, what does she know? It's not like she's had time to read _Home and Garden_ magazines.

Sarah hears noise coming from further inside the home and she follows the sounds, taking in the décor and architecture of the house as she goes. She needs to go through the house with a fine-tooth comb but on a cursory examination, she wonders why there are no personal photos or artifacts from their old home. There's no sign that her Chuck lives here, or anyone for that matter. It feels too perfect and impersonal, like a showhome only with no one to show.

Her heart stops when she sees him. She can feel her heart falter; tripping on its own rhythm and seizing at the painful remembrance. She winces and places one hand over her chest to make sure she's still alive, that she'll make it just a little longer, and places the other hand over her mouth to silence the cry of relief.

He's sitting on a couch in the sunken family room playing some sort of ultra-violent war simulation. It has all the trappings of Tropic of Cancer and Sarah briefly wonders if he's playing one of his own games.

She takes a cautious step forward, relying on the wall to maintain her upright stance. Her heart's pounding, threatening to break through her chest and blood rushes to her head. She's never been more scared in her life. If all her instincts are telling her to run, maybe they're right. Maybe she should turn back. Maybe this was a mistake.

He looks tired and thin. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been in pretty rough shape but she didn't remember him looking quite so fragile.

He doesn't look at her but it becomes obvious that he's noticed her presence when he flits a glance her way while the screen loads the next scene.

"Agents aren't allowed in the house. It's part of the rules," he says and goes back to his game.

That's it. No swell of emotion or anything; just a simple reiteration of the facts.

Sarah swallows nervously. "Well…" she says. "I wasn't expecting fireworks or a parade but a simple hello might have been nice."

The game controller drops out of his hand and Chuck's head snaps towards her like a flash of lightening.

"S-sarah?" he utters, so softly it sounds more like a stutter.

Sarah nods, and even the slight of motion makes her feel faint. She hasn't dared to take half a step from the wall.

"Hi, Chuck," she chokes out.

Chuck mutters something but Sarah can't hear over the noise of the game. He shakes his head, blinks a few times, and then looks at her again.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" He takes a step forward, then hesitates, as if reluctant to discover the truth. "I'm dreaming," he confirms. "I have some of the most vivid dreams sometimes."

He looks crestfallen by his own discovery.

"It's me, Chuck," she says quietly. "It's me."

Chuck looks at her; really looks at her, but his eyes still fail to make the connection. It's the damn dress and the stupid hair. Of course she's not herself right now.

"It's me," she whispers. _Please, Chuck, it's me._

"Am I…" He stumbles towards her and the look of doubt in his eyes makes her stomach tie up in knots. "I'm hallucinating again, aren't I?"

"Again?" Sarah asks. "You've been hallucinating?"

Chuck nods slowly. "In…in my cell…You talk to me sometimes." Chuck looks almost frightened to approach her and her fragile emotional state is in no condition to sort through this information.

"It's really me." She holds out her hand, inviting Chuck to see for himself. To prove she's really here.

Chuck seems unconvinced by the gesture; he looks at her hand but he doesn't take it.

Chuck swallows slowly. "Sarah?" he asks again.

Sarah's hand wavers in the air and she nods.

"I'm here, Chuck. I promise."

Chuck stumbles the rest of the way towards her and takes her hand, pulling her into a fierce hug. She suppresses the urge to gasp as the stitches in her chest tense and holds onto him like a woman lost at sea, clutching onto a life preserver. The doctor's told her not to overexert herself but what do they know anyway?

Impulsively she kisses him in a desperate bid to make up for lost time. He eagerly opens his mouth and they stumble towards the couch, hungrily tasting one another only to come to an abrupt stop.

"What's wrong? What's the matter?" she asks, acutely aware that Chuck's hands are on her shoulders, pushing her back away from him.

"It's you. It's really you? I'm not crazy?" Carefully, ever so carefully, he examines her every freckle, every scar, every bruise. "You might be the most perfect simulation of Sarah Walker ever created," he breathes, as if in a trance. He still doesn't look like he fully believes it.

Sarah pinches him. "I might be missing a few pieces here and there, but yes, I'm still me." She reaches up and strokes his face, conducting her own careful examination. He looks so tired, so much older than the last time she saw him—

"They didn't hurt you, did they?" she asks. She's in no shape to fight but she'll be damned if she lets this get swept under the rug. "You can tell me."

He shakes his head, still looking her over with those sad expressive brown eyes. "No, no," he assures. "And you? I didn't hurt you just then when we...did I?"

"No, no." She's as eager to reassure him as he is. "It still hurts," she confesses. "But I have a feeling I'll be just fine."

Chuck sighs in relief. "Good. That's good." He pulls her closer and hugs her again, burying his face into her hair. He's taking in the scent of her and she feels the exact moment in his shoulders when he realizes it's really her and not some cruel illusion. Chuck's weight collapses onto her and she can barely support the both of them in her weakened condition.

Sarah holds him tight, blinking back tears, and it's only then that she realizes she's shaking. Except it's not her, it's him. He's shaking so hard, she's shaking with him.

"Chuck?" she whispers. It takes her a moment to realize Chuck's crying.

"I thought you were dead." He tries hastily to wipe away the evidence but warm tears have already trailed down her neck. Sarah runs her hand gently through Chuck's hair.

"Don't cry, Chuck. You're going to make me cry." It's already too late, but she still feels like she needs to warn him.

"They told me you were dead."

"Technically I was." Chuck pulls back and studies her through tear-stained eyes. It's probably the wrong thing to say, but she has no idea what the right answers are or how to explain the unexplainable.

Sarah nods her head towards the couch. "Why don't you sit down? There are some things I need to tell you."

They walk slowly together, their hands interlocked in a watertight grip. After waiting so very long for this moment, she doesn't think she can suffer alone again and the realization only makes her squeeze his hand tighter.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She starts to shake and only when Chuck's arms wrap around her does she feel safe enough to continue. "I was in a coma. They'd already told you before I woke up. They didn't expect me to make it and the Director…" Sarah's at a loss for words. What could she tell Chuck about the Director that he doesn't already know?

Chuck reaches out and strokes her face. "How?"

"I don't know. I don't remember." Sarah squeezes Chuck's hand. "My heart stopped on the way to the hospital. By the time they had my heart going again they presumed I was brain dead."

Sarah stops, her mind drifting back to that day. "We made quite a mess, you and I," she says. "There was no way to contain the scene and the Director had a body down at the LA county morgue in my name. They didn't see the harm…they didn't think I was going to make it."

"But you did?" Chuck's tone was asking for clarification even though she was here, in his arms. She couldn't shake the doubt from Chuck's eyes, like he still didn't fully believe she was here.

"Of course I did," she says. "I couldn't say no to you."

"What?" he whispers.

Sarah closes her eyes. "This is going to sound stupid," she begins and already it does. "But when I was in that coma, you were there with me. You told me I had to come back. That you still needed me." She manages a timid smile. "I had to wake up."

Chuck pulls her to his chest and Sarah drinks in the scent of him. He's still Chuck and so not Chuck. He seems different but she can't quite put her finger on it.

"They lied to me," he says and the undercurrent of anger in his tone runs strong.

"You have to understand," she tries to explain. "From their perspective I was most likely dead. It wasn't going to help if they muddied the waters and at the time you were still a suspect."

Chuck pulls back. "I was a suspect?" he demands, a look of outrage clear on his face.

Sarah sighs. This was harder than she imagined. "I'm sorry, Chuck, they shouldn't have lied to you."

Chuck's glare softens and he eases back into the seat. "It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to apologize." He studies her carefully. "Are you okay?"

Sarah waves him off. "I'm fine."

"You look a little pale; do you want to lie down?"

"It's the dress," she dismisses. She reminds herself never to wear yellow again. "I'm fine."

"Are you in pain?"

"Chuck, I'm trying to tell you what happened."

Chuck looks at her reproachfully. "Oh. So you just came to explain—"

"No! Chuck." Sarah lets out a long breath. "I came here…" Her courage falters and she wants to retreat but his intense gaze makes it impossible for her to turn tail. She swallows her fears and tries again. "I came here because I wanted to fix…us." She takes his hand for fear he'll pull away from her again. "I came here because I wanted to fix things between us," she clarifies. "I want to try again. I can do better. If…if you'll have me."

Sarah rubs her temple. She's absolutely dreadful at this. It's precisely why she always lets Chuck do all the talking.

"I know I can't make up the last five years but I thought…" The ache in her chest builds and Sarah has to stop. She can't go on.

"You thought what?" he prompts.

Sarah's hand begins to shake and Chuck holds her close, rubbing her shoulder gently.

"It's okay," he soothes. "You thought what?"

"I thought we found something in LA. It was something we lost a long time ago and I realized that you might still need me. I know—" Sarah looks timidly into his eyes. "I know that I never stopped needing you. And I…"

The pain in Sarah's chest begins to build again. _Damn it,_ why was this so hard?

"I wanted you to know…"

Chuck looks at her gently. "You wanted me to know?" he prompts again.

"I…" She gasps for air. Why was this so hard? "I…"

Chuck nods encouragingly. He was so good to her; even after all the hell she's put him through he's still so patient with her.

"I love you," she blurts. The relief is immediate; it's like a weight's been lifted off her chest and she can finally breathe again. "I love you. I always have. I'm sorry I never told you." And just like that, everything—every word, every emotion, every moment she's held back—spills.

"It's just really hard to say and I know it screwed things up between us and I should have told you years ago. I just do. I really do. And I know everything that's happened was my fault. I don't blame you for being angry but—"

"Hey. Hey," Chuck says softly. "LA rules still apply. No more blaming yourself for what happened."

Sarah's eyes begin to blur again and she apologizes for breaking the rules. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry, Chuck."

"I'm just so happy you're alive." Chuck pulls her into another embrace and this time Sarah isn't strong enough to hold back the groan of pain.

Immediately, Chuck jumps back. "You _are_ hurt!"

He says it like an accusation and Sarah grits her teeth. "I'm fine," she assures, and she'll deny it till her last breath. "I passed a physical."

Chuck flushes with anger. "What kind of quack let you pass a physical?"

Sarah punches him in the shoulder. "Hey! I worked really hard to get here, I tell you that I love you and you're mad they let me come?"

Chuck rubs his arm. "I just don't think you should be out running around. They always rush you back into the field," he says quietly.

"Well I didn't want you to keep thinking I was dead," Sarah grumbles.

"Yeah, you're still not off the hook for that." Chuck shakes his head and Sarah's heart sinks a little. It hasn't escaped her notice that Chuck hasn't said he loved her back. She supposed she deserved that.

"I'll forgive you faster if you rest," he tells her.

"I'm fine!" Sarah exclaims for what feels like the hundredth time but Chuck keeps staring at her until she acquiesces and lies flat on the couch. "Happy?"

Chuck nods with only the slightest hint of a smile. "Surprisingly." He takes her feet into his lap and begins to massage them. He smiles sheepishly at her and it breathes life on the small ember of hope she's still holding tight to. That doesn't mean she's not pondering the lack of a reaction to her 'I love you' though.

After what feels like a temporary day-pass in heaven after a lifetime in hell, Chuck finally speaks again.

"I have a question."

Sarah lets out a sigh. She knew the moment couldn't last forever, but that didn't mean she was happy to see it go. She makes sure to look Chuck straight in the eye when she tells him: "I'll tell you whatever I can, I promise."

Chuck hesitates. "Um…" His brows furrow just so. "I was just kind of wondering… What I mean to say…" Chuck's frown deepens. "What's with the hair?"

Sarah's answer comes in the form of a sharp kick to the thigh.

"Ah!"


	49. One Month Later Part 2

**_Chapter 49: _**

Chuck makes dinner for the two of them. It's soup from a can and some buttered toast but after eating hospital gruel for the past few weeks, Sarah's not one to complain. She gulps down the hot liquid in front of her and stuffs herself with bread.

Even though the soup reminds her a bit too much of brine and the toast tastes like singed cardboard, she's afraid of what will happen if she doesn't keep her mouth occupied. She's found a precarious balance; Chuck's reception is lukewarm at best but he hasn't rejected her outright either.

Just the thought of the latter spurs Sarah to chew rabidly on her toast. There are so many things she wants to say but she knows she'll screw it up. It's what she does best.

She finishes her bowl and stands up to grab seconds.

"What?" she asks, catching Chuck's curious look.

"Are you sure you want more?" he asks. It's then that Sarah realizes Chuck's barely had any of his supper. "It could be hazardous to your health."

He says it with a slight quirk at the end but his smile is so faint she has no way of knowing whether or not he's joking.

Chuck tugs gently on her wrist as he stands to his feet. "Sit. I'll get it for you."

He moves towards the kitchen but she blocks his path. "No. It's okay. I can do it myself."

"No. I want to." Chuck steps forward just as Sarah steps back and there's an awkward power struggle between the two of them. "I don't want you to exert yourself."

Sarah pauses, hoping Chuck will hear himself clearly. Where is all this excessive formality coming from? Since when had she become a stranger to him?

"It's just toasting some bread, Chuck."

He reaches out, hesitantly, and touches her shoulder. "Just...just let me do it, okay?" His voice is soft, almost on the verge of breaking, and Sarah can't imagine why he's insisting so badly. All she knows is that his eyes still flicker with relief every time he touches her; like he's still expecting to wake from a dream.

"Okay," Sarah says and returns to her seat. She waits in silence, picking up bread crumbs off the dining room table with her index finger.

_Okay._ It's not like she thought they could forget the last five years but she was kind of hoping they might go back a few weeks to the evening they spent in their old house.

But it's a lot to ask, isn't it?

Chuck's been through a lot since that night. He's watched her almost die in his arms. He's been lied to, manipulated, relocated....he's lost a fortune and he's had to give up what little he had left of his family.

Sarah sighs. On second thought, it's probably a miracle she's hasn't been thrown out of the house. If she were Chuck she'd phone Langley for a replacement and write up a restraining order.

The all-too-real possibility sends Sarah's heart racing and the pain in her chest begins to escalate. She grimaces and puts a hand to her chest but all that serves is to focus the pain.

"Hey." Chuck returns from the kitchen and stops in his tracks. "What's wrong?" He throws the tray onto the nearest flat surface and rushes to her side. "Do you want me to call for a doctor?"

Sarah grits her teeth and manages a smile. They were probably a three hour drive from the nearest hospital.

"I'm okay," she says. He's forbidden the "F" word. "Just...heartburn. That soup was really hot."

Chuck's worried expression doesn't ease. Even after a few minutes it's still permanently fixed in a frown.

He goes back for the tray and sets it in front of her.

"Don't drink it all so fast this time," he reminds. She thanks him and they settle back to the way they were, except Chuck's still not eating much at all.

"What is it?" she asks, after she catches him staring at her for what must be the fifth time.

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he murmurs quietly. His expression is so sombre; Sarah really doesn't understand. Has all this been a mistake?

Has he just realized she's not anything like the woman he married?

The thought kills even Sarah's nervous appetite. She pushes the platter away and her spoon _clinks_ against the tableware causing Chuck stirs from his reverie. His frown deepens.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

Sarah stares down at her barren lap and swallows the lump forming in her throat.

"We're not married anymore." She bites her tongue but it's too late. This is precisely why she always lets Chuck do the talking.

Chuck's brows furrow ever deeper. "What?"

"_Um..._" Sarah shreds her lips nervously. "What I mean is...legally speaking, Sarah Walker is lying on a refrigerated slab at the county morgue awaiting a coroner's investigation and Chuck Bartowski is missing and a person of interest in relation to her death."

She blanches. That was, quite possibly, the worst explanation she could have given. She honestly couldn't speak to save her life.

"I'm sorry. That came out wrong," she rushes to say—except she has no idea how to say it right. It's all true. Their marriage was legally over and has been for weeks.

The thought is a crushing one. What do you do when your marriage ends because of a technicality?

Chuck's gaze drops but he doesn't say anything.

Sarah's shoulders fall and she holds her breath, afraid she'll say something else regrettable. She's been lying on the hospital bed these last few weeks thinking of her future and not once did she ever consider that she might have to spend it alone.

The pang in her chest flares again and Sarah clenches her jaw to keep from letting it show. If Chuck wants his freedom, she'll give it to him. She owes him that much. If you truly love someone, you'll let them go, right?

_Right? _

And just when she doesn't think she can hold herself together any longer, Chuck sighs.

It's a quiet, thoughtful, sigh but in the stillness of the dining room the noise threatens to tear down the walls. Sarah looks up expectantly, only to see that Chuck's expression hasn't changed one bit.

There's no anger, no bitterness...just...just...

Sarah shakes her head. She doesn't even know. She's just told him their marriage is over and he just shrugs it off?

Dejected, Sarah picks up her spoon and stirs the soup around. She can't bear to eat another bite, but she doesn't know what else to do.

Across the table, Chuck watches her.

He doesn't seem to know either.

_

It's eleven.

It's midnight.

One.

Two.

Three in the morning and Sarah lies in bed wondering how she could have possibly fucked up badly enough to end up here again. Clutching the sheets close to her chest, she vows that if she ever fixes things with Chuck and his obligations to the CIA come to an end, they're going to buy a house without a guest room.

There's no way you can be banished to a room that doesn't exist.

Although, technically, Chuck did offer her the master bedroom—again.

Sarah tosses the sheets to the side and stares up at the ceiling. She can't figure out what she's done wrong. Chuck hasn't _actually_ said anything like a rejection but then again, he hasn't said much at all.

_You did just come back from the dead_.

Her mind tries to rationalize but Sarah knows there's something else. She wouldn't be Chuck's (ex)wife if she didn't.

He cares a great deal about her, she's relatively sure of that. He doesn't want her to exert herself, won't even let her butter her own toast, and he's the one who insisted she rest early tonight.

No. There's something he's holding back.

Sarah sighs. The last five years have been hell on her and she doesn't want to go back to that—couldn't, in fact. It's either this or nothing at all—which leaves her feeling rather desperate and alone at the moment.

She looks hopelessly at the despairing single digit on the alarm clock. At least another three hours before any hint of daybreak.

And what then?

Another day of excessive politeness and sad indifference?

Sarah doesn't think she can make bear another hour of Chuck's distant affections much less for the rest of her life.

_Enough of this._ She'll drive herself insane just lying here.

Sarah slips on a robe and enters the darkened hallways. The silence is so acute it makes her ears ring. She treads lightly down the stairs, intending to get a drink from the tap, when she realizes the kitchen lights are still on.

Sarah back-steps, then realizes it can only be one person.

"I don't know what it means," she hears Chuck say.

Sarah's senses prickle in anticipation. Was it wrong for her to be eavesdropping on her (ex)husband?

_Well..._she's certainly done much worse in this lifetime. Sarah puts her skills to the test and quietly creeps toward the source.

"What is your heart telling you?" The voice, a woman's, takes Sarah by surprise. It's Agent Gardner, the other junior agent; there's no one else it could be.

"I don't know." The struggle is evident in Chuck's voice. "I really don't know anymore."

A pause.

"You're sure you can't explain it better? I can't help you unless you tell me."

Chuck sighs. "Honestly, it's so complicated at this point. Everything's a mess."

"Do you still love her?"

Sarah gets as close to the edge as she can without being seen. Chuck and the junior agent are only a few meters away at the kitchen island with their backs to her.

It's easier this way; Sarah doesn't think she can hold herself together if she were to see Chuck's expression.

"I'll always love Sarah," he says. He states it so matter-of-factly there's no room for argument.

The strength of his conviction takes the agent aback. "Always?" she asks. There's a hint of incredulousness to her tone, as if such a statement is surely impossible.

"Always," Chuck says again; completely matter-of-fact.

Agent Gardner shrugs. "Then what's the problem?"

Chuck sighs and shakes his head. Sarah recognizes that sigh; unlike herself, Chuck Bartowski has and always will see the world in a spectrum of gray.

"Have you ever had your heart broken?"

The agent shrugs. "Sure." It's an off-handed response; from her vantage point, Sarah doubts the girl's even old enough to have truly loved another.

It seems Chuck has made the same deduction. "No. I mean really—ripped apart—torn in two—destroyed—broken—"

The agent squirms under his gaze. "I don't...I don't know," she replies. "I mean I've had some relationships that ended badly..."

Sarah hears Chuck sigh. "See? That's the thing. We didn't grow apart; we didn't fall out of love. We just caught a bad break. We ran into things that were too much for either of us." He sighs again, and this time his shoulder collapses. "Do that a couple times and..." He shakes his head. "My heart's worn out, Rachelle. I should be happy but I can't...feel." He holds out his hand and stares at it inexplicably.

"I'm numb. I'm numb all over," he says and it's a crushing confession for Sarah to hear. She bites her lips to staunch the flow of tears and quietly leans with her back against the wall. She knows exactly how he feels; the disconnect, the pain without pain, and now he feels that way towards _her?_

"Maybe you're just tired." The agent looks helplessly at him. "You've been working really hard lately."

Chuck shakes his head.

"If you want them to assign someone else, you'll have to call the Director. I'm sure he'll approve it. You're a very important asset."

Sarah hugs herself close to keep from shaking. Even a stranger has deduced the obvious.

"No," Chuck says. "No. It's not her fault. I just need time, I guess. I'm sorry. It's late and I shouldn't be burdening you with all this."

"It's okay," the girl says but Sarah can hear the relief in her voice. Delving into personal feelings just isn't a part of their training. "Looking after you is my job."

"Right, well thanks," Chuck says quietly. "I'll let you get back to your patrol."

"Sure thing, Mr. C. Have a good night."

Sarah hears a chair pull back and scrape across the ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor. She waits with her back against the wall until she hears the footsteps retreat and the front door open and close before she makes a move.

Chuck's still slumped in the barstool with a glass in his hand. There's a carton of milk with the spout open just a few inches away on the counter.

Wiping the tears from her chapped cheeks, Sarah steps quietly into the kitchen. She moves silently towards the sink—so silently in fact—that she misses detection.

It's the smallest sniffle that gives her away.

Chuck's head immediately snaps in her direction. He winces when they make eye contact.

Sarah quickly wipes her face again. Was it really so obvious?

"You heard that, huh?" he asks, looking guilty.

Sarah can only nod in response.

Chuck lets out a long sigh. "I didn't mean for you..." He stops and looks at her and the guilty expression only grows. "Hey..." He holds out his arms. "Come here."

Sarah stands her ground. "I just came for some water," she whispers though she makes no move to grab a glass. "I'll be out of your way in a second."

"Please?" Chuck keeps his arms open for her. "Please, Sarah?"

How can she say no?

Sarah takes half a step forward but half a step becomes one becomes two and then she can't stop herself. She falls into his arms and Chuck bundles her up in his lap, hugging her close to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he says. "You shouldn't have had to hear that."

Just the memory of his words makes Sarah shudder. "You...you don't feel the same way anymore?" she asks.

"I can't feel much of anything," Chuck says. "I'm sorry."

Sarah makes a weak attempt to staunch the onslaught of tears. She understands. It's a sensation she's all too familiar with.

After a moment she nods to his glass. "Whiskey works better, you know?"

He gives a weak smile. "I think I'll leave the heavy drinking to you; I'm not cut out for it."

Sarah shakes her head ruefully. Oh, it would be so much easier that way...

"Nope. I'm done. I made a promise."

Chuck frowns. "To who?"

"Diane."

"Diane?" Chuck echoes, as if they knew more than one Diane.

"General Beckman—only she's not a General anymore."

"Yeah, she's on the President's cabinet, I heard about that."

Sarah nods. "I called in a favour—probably my last—to get you out of that cell and in return, she made me promise. No more alcohol."

Chuck stiffens. "Beckman got me out of the cell? I thought..." He looks affronted. "But I made a deal with the Director—"

"I'm sorry." It's another one of those unfortunate truths Sarah hadn't wanted to explain. "Diane put pressure on him but he managed to twist you into this all the same."

Chuck shakes his head, genuinely impressed. "Damn...and here I thought we'd been negotiating."

Sarah strokes his face tenderly. "Don't feel bad. He always gets what he wants; that's how it is when you're Director. You get good at getting the things you need from people."

Chuck grunts. "Bastard," he curses under his breath.

Sarah gives him that. "It's hard to beat people like that," she says. "It's best to just let it go."

Chuck sighs and holds her tighter. "You'd think if SIMIAN could figure it out I'd be able to," he grumbles.

Sarah frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Oh." Chuck blushes. "_Um..._well..."

Already Sarah's dreading the worst. "_Chuck...._"

"SIMIAN broke into the DC Department of Transportation and assigned eighteen-thousand dollars worth of unpaid parking tickets to his car."

"Chuck!"

"It wasn't my idea!" he defends, failing to hide the grin on his face.

Sarah shakes her head. Okay. So it was _kind_ of funny.

"You need to get a handle on that program," she warns. "The Director isn't someone who likes to be made a fool."

"Tell me about it," Chuck says, though the smile on his face hasn't receded one bit.

"I'm serious, Chuck." She rests her head against his shoulder. "Don't piss him off."

"Okay." He pouts a little and Sarah feels a little guilty. It's petty but the Director hasn't made things easy for them. "I promise."

They remain as they are even though the conversation has reached an end. It couldn't be comfortable for Chuck; the barstool was flimsy and she's pretty much a dead weight in his lap. Still he holds her tightly, refusing to let go.

Sarah closes her eyes. She has no desire to move; moving would mean returning alone to the guest room and she's really in no rush.

Chuck doesn't say anything either. He seems content to cradle her in his arms; Sarah knows her own size but somehow he makes her feel infinitely small in his arms. She sighs. She hasn't felt so safe in a very, very long time.

"So, what are we going to do?" she finally asks.

Chuck yawns. "About what?"

Sarah pulls back just enough so she can trace her finger across his chest. There's no scar underneath his shirt but there may as well be.

"_Oh._"

Sarah nods sadly. "Yeah."

"I don't know," Chuck confesses. "When I thought you were dead, it just hurt so much. I just wanted it to end."

"I didn't believe them but after awhile..." He shakes his head. "When all you have to look at are four empty walls, it gets to you. And then after awhile, everything just faded. The pain and all the other feelings...just vanished."

Sarah bites her lip to hold back the tears. She has to stop crying or she'll become like the sobbing messes she's always despised.

"Oh, Chuck," she whispers and threads her fingers into his hair, bringing his head down to hers. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he echoes. He presses his forehead against hers. "You deserve more. I've been thinking about what Carl said that day. That if he could have Sophie back even for a day—"

"_Shh..._" Sarah's heard enough. "It's okay," she whispers. Even if things weren't okay; she'd make it okay.

Chuck ignores her. "I've been given a second chance and I'm squandering it. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"We can fix this," she says. "You fixed me...twice." She leans in and kisses him gently, wishing she could take away all his hurt the way he'd taken away all of hers.

His eyes flicker with hope. "So this...this goes away?"

She nods. "It can."

"How?"

Sarah kisses the tips of her fingers and presses them over his heart. "I don't know. I just hope I can do for you what you did for me." She hugs him tightly. "It might take me some time to figure it out."

Chuck looks at her with those sad doe-brown eyes. "I'm sorry. You've been through so much. I wish—"

"_Shh." _Sarah buries her face and all her tears into his chest. "It's okay."

"Sarah." He shakes her gently by the shoulder. "You know I love you, right? Even if I can't feel anything right now and I know it's not the same—logically—deep down—I know. I love you." He swallows. "It's just hard."

Sarah nods. She's cried enough tears to last her a lifetime, what's a few more?

"Oh, Chuck," she utters. Tears stream freely down her face and she wraps her arms tightly around his neck, hugging him tight. "I love you too."

Chuck nods and squeezes her tight enough to make her chest ache, but Sarah doesn't let go.

He smiles through his tears and when they kiss, it's the culmination of every missed opportunity.

All the times she didn't tell him what he meant to her, every moment she let slip without saying those three words—until now. Now she's handed over her heart and bared her soul.

It's all his...if he still wants it.

"Chuck," she whimpers, clinging to him. "I can't go back to the guest room."

To his credit, he doesn't laugh. He pauses thoughtfully for a moment then kisses her tenderly on the brow.

"Okay." Without another word, he stands up. She's lost so much weight at the hospital that even in his own weakened condition, Chuck easily hitches her up and carries her up the stairs. They keep walking in the darkened hallway, past the guest room, the washroom, the office, until they get to his bedroom.

He sets her down gently on the bed, and then lies down next to her.

He smiles faintly. "Better?"

Sarah returns the expression. "Much."

He puts a protective arm over her and Sarah pulls him closer, closer, until they're so tightly embraced her stitches begin to burn. She doesn't care though; she can easily live with this. She can easily get used to anything so long as Chuck holds her.

"It'll be okay," she murmurs.

Chuck nods drowsily and nuzzles her. "I know. I think we're going to be just fine."

Sarah sighs contently and closes her eyes. She'd find a way to do this for him. If Chuck could open her heart and teach her to love, then surely she'd find some way to return the favour.

She's going to make everything right this time around. Like Carl said, what they have is a gift.

This is their second chance.

* * *

_The End?_

_**A/N: **This has been quite the year. What started as a little story I could pick up whenever I wanted suddenly took on a life of its own. I could never have predicted the kind of response I received and for that I have only you readers to thank. As exams and papers started to pile up my responses have lagged but know that I truly appreciated your feedback. I apologize for moving you to fits of rage or bouts of tears, which while still my intention, was a bit of a dastardly thing to do. ;) Thank you for sticking with me. Enjoy the sunshine and rainbows.  
_

_This story couldn't have been completed without the aid of my good friend, **Altonish, **who worked so tirelessly to make sure there was an update every Monday. He infused humor into the darkest moments of Chuck/Sarah and brought to life the "nerd" in Chuck, the devilish design in Hawkins and Watts, and the silhouette of a soul behind D Beckman. Several times I wanted to give up but he wouldn't let me. So thank you. I may have started 2C on my own but I couldn't have completed it without him._

_And **mxpw**, you of your anti-sarah sentiments, your judgment marked the fine-line between mad antics and "acceptable" angst and your judgment was usually sound. Thanks for that. And for allowing yourself to be used as a scape-goat when the occasion arose. Thanks for that too._

_I released the first chapter of 2C way back in September at the start of my last semester and now we end, nearly fifty chapters later, in April. It's an interesting coincidence that I finish the story just as I finish my life as an undergrad, but as they say; all good things must come to an end, so why not? This marks not only the end of 2C but also __the last forseeable solo story I plan to write as I try to figure out what my life as a "grown-up" will entail. You will still see me dabble in writing in the collaboration project entitled "Sarah vs the Hundredth Second Chance" under **mxmoo** but i expect **mxpw **to carry most of the weight there (nudge nudge). _

_So dear friends, thank you for your time, your patience, your reviews...when I have a moment 2C may get an epilogue but for all intents and purposes, the journey of Chuck and Sarah and their second chance ends here.  
_

_Malamoo_


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